


you belong to me (i belong to you)

by Child_OTKW



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry, Body Swap, Grey Harry, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Mind Games, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Rape Aftermath, Riddle at Hogwarts Era, Slytherin Harry, Slytherin Politics, Suicide Attempt, The Non-con is not between Harry and Tom, Time Travel, Underage Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-06
Packaged: 2018-11-17 07:05:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 45,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11270490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Child_OTKW/pseuds/Child_OTKW
Summary: “What I find absolutely fascinating,” Riddle said as he stalked closer. “is you.” He backed Harry up until the cool wall of the common room was brushing against him. “Do you know why?”“No. And I’ll be honest here, Riddle, I don’t particularly care.”The taller boy grinned at him, small yet infinitely amused. “That. Right there.” One hand rose and brushed some of Harry’s fringe from his face. “Nathan Ciro is a spineless little boy too afraid of his own shadow to dare even glance in my direction. But you…”He leaned closer. “You look at me like you want to stab me.”After an accident, Auror Harry Potter wakes up in the body of fourteen year old Nathan Ciro, a tormented Slytherin who recently tried to end his own life. His return to Hogwarts causes quite the stir through the staff and students, especially when they realise he is not the same boy as before.He tries to keep his head down, but with the keen eyes of Tom Riddle hounding him through the halls, Harry finds himself unwillingly drawn into a dangerous game with an equally dangerous boy.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, welcome to the party~
> 
> Now, before we start, fret not, Consuming Shadows is still at the forefront of my mind, and there is absolutely no way I'll be putting that on hold for now. This is just a little something that's been creeping into my mind for the past month or so, and I just had to get the blasted thing out.
> 
> So, as the summary states, this is a time travel story (I'm a sucker for these things, and figured I might as well try my hand at it haha), as well as a body swap. I'll be honest, I've never particularly liked body swap stories purely because I haven't really found any seriously written ones/ones with intriguing plots. But oh my lord, recently I stumbled across an AMAZING webcomic by Haribo called "At the End of the Road" - and guys, I can't praise it enough. It has completely destroyed my soul. The characters, the plot, just everything makes me melt. If you haven't read it, I highly recommend :)
> 
> This story does take some inspiration from that webcomic, because it is awesome and all throughout reading it was I was like "It is Harry, and it is Tom, my god, I need to do a thing" and ideas just exploded in my head. So bless Haribo for giving us that gem.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who's giving this a read (defs check out that webcomic), and let's give this a go. 
> 
> **Warning:** The beginning of this chapter deals with the aftermath of the rape of a minor, and the attempted suicide of the same minor. If that bothers anyone, please, please, please, either don't read, or skip the italised section in the beginning.

_They left, one by one, cruel laughter echoing back to him as they returned to the main alley just a few metres away from where he lay._

_No one had come when he had screamed, when he had cried and pleaded. No one had cared. Here, in the bowel of darkness, everyone minded their own business._

_He stayed where he had been thrown, body trembling more from the cold night air that was seeping into him than from how violated he felt._

_He had stopped reacting to this torture. He just…did not care anymore. It was better that way, to just block it all out._

_His clothes were torn open, and he could still feel the ghosts of their hands running along his chest, over his neck, down his thighs – nothing more than mocking caresses until they turned harsh and bruising._

_Their horrible words still swirled in his ears, terrible whispers that permeated the quiet of his mind and kept him from falling into the peaceful embrace of unconsciousness._

_He reached up slowly and wiped at the tears that painted his cheeks, smearing the dirt and grime onto his pale skin._

_With aching care, he pushed himself up into a sitting position, staring with blank eyes at the mess they had left him in._

_His stomach rolled, but there was nothing for him to throw up._

_He forced his clumsy fingers to pull his pants back up his legs, to redo the buttons of his shirt, and to try and fix his jumbled hair. He ignored the sticky wetness clinging to his body as he tucked his shirt in and pulled his belt tight, two notches more than he usually did._

_That done, he stood shakily, leaning heavily on the disgusting wall next to him as he waited for his legs to regain their strength._

_As he stood there, his head rolled listlessly to the side-alley opening. His dark eyes watched emotionlessly as countless figures moved back and forth, black cloaks hiding even blacker hearts._

_No one so much as glanced in his direction, though more than one had to have heard or known what had happened._

_He wanted to feel hate. He wanted to burn them all for their selfishness._

_But he was exhausted, and could not bring himself to waste what little energy he had left on the likes of them._

_Tilting his head back, he stared up at the night sky. His fingers brushed blindly over the wall behind him, feeling the numerous grooves and cracks between the stones._

_The wall stretched high above him, towering into the night sky, looming._

_And suddenly, he knew what he had to do._

_He turned, and without even a second to reconsider, he began to climb._

_The rough stones cut into his soft hands, leaving bloody marks wherever he scrabbled for a grip. His nails were shredded from where he scraped them, and his body was quickly becoming numb as the autumn night air brushed against him – more insistently the higher he went._

_He lost his hold only once or twice, his hands too slippery to get a good grip. But he was determined to get to the top. He had to do this right. What was a little more pain when he was so close to the end anyway?_

_When his hands finally curled around the lip of the roof he almost sobbed with relief, hauling himself up and over with his trembling arms, and collapsing against the freezing tiles. He rolled onto his back and closed his eyes while he regained his breath._

_From here, he could see the entirety of Knockturn Alley, the twisted dark buildings and small blobs of witches and wizards scurrying along._

_And in the distance, the bright, cheery lights of its twin, illuminating the dark sky._

_His family would be down there somewhere, soaking in the atmosphere and enjoying the acts and festivities of Samhain, as they did every year._

_They would not even think to start looking for him for another couple of hours at least. They were so used to him wandering off on his own, so used to him sneaking off to read or lose himself in an interesting store._

_His chest hurt suddenly._

_He never should have left their side tonight. He never should have strayed too close to Knockturn Alley’s entrance. He had known of the dangers. He should have taken the precautions._

_But he had just wanted to get away from it all, for even a little while. He needed to get away from the relentless jeers of his classmates, the snide rumours and unforgiving stares that tormented him every day at school._

_He could not stand to be with his happy, happy family when he felt so tainted, like he was somehow too wrong to be in their presence. Unworthy, somehow._

_It would be better this way._

_He stood, moving to the very edge of the roof so the tips of his shoes were overhanging the night sky._

_This was it._

_Finally._

_He wondered if they would miss him, if they would even care._

_It did not matter._

_He took one last moment to gaze over at the beautiful, twisted world, before tipping forward._

_He wanted to die._

Harry shot up, wrestling with his sheets and gasping for breath as the image of the ground rushing to meet him melted into that of his dimly lit bedroom.

Bile rose in his throat, and he barely made it to the bathroom in time to empty his stomach in the toilet. He coughed, spitting the last of the foul, burning liquid from his mouth, and wiped at his lips.

He stayed there for a full minute, waiting for his stomach to settle, before standing and flushing. One hand reached up and fisted in his thick hair. He tried to slow his breathing as his vision swan with the change in position.

“Harry?”

He was covered in sweat, his shirt was sticking to him uncomfortably, and his hair was plastered to his neck and forehead.

He quickly yanked the night shirt off and tossed it to the side, leaning over the sink and staring at the white bowl intently.

_Just what the hell was that?_

“…Harry?”

“In here.” He called, knowing she would find him eventually and there was no point trying to pretend nothing had happened. She had likely heard him throwing up.

“Harry, are you alright?”

He looked up into the mirror to see Ginny in the doorway. She was wrapped in her gorgeous black lace sleeping gown, the same one he had delighted in taking her out of last night. Her hair was messily up in a bun, and her face was freshly washed, meaning she had been up for some time already.

“Yeah,” he croaked, then immediately cleared his throat to get rid of the grit in his voice. “Yeah, just a…really weird dream.”

“What kind of dream?” She asked as she glided towards him, coming to a stop just behind him. Her hands, calloused and warm and familiar, landed gently on his back, rubbing the tense muscles there absently. “The war?”

He shook his head.

“Voldemort?”

“No,” he swallowed, grimacing at the lingering burn. “I don’t know…it was kind of like the visions, but not, at the same time.”

She perched her chin on his shoulder, arms snaking around his waist. He stared at the appendages to give his mind something to focus on. The difference between her fair skin and his own darker shade was stark.

She raised an eyebrow, probing but not demanding. Ginny always knew exactly how to handle him.

“I don’t know.” He repeated. “It was just really vivid.”

She hummed softly, “What was it about?”

“A kid,” he said slowly, trying to recall the details from his jumbled emotions. “he’d been attacked and assaulted.” He closed his eyes, feeling despair well in him even though it was just a dream. “He climbed a building in Knockturn Alley and jumped.”

Her fingers, which had been tracing nonsense on his abdomen, stuttered to a stop. “Oh.” She murmured. “How old was he?”

And this was why he loved her so, so much. Others might brush it off as just an intense nightmare. But Ginny treated it like it was real, because she knew he needed to get this stuff off his chest otherwise it would fester.

“About fourteen? I think. It was hard to tell.”

Harry sighed deeply, turning in her hold and wrapping his arms around her. “I’m sorry, it’s nothing. This case is probably just getting to me.”

She patted his chest, tucking her head into his shoulder and sighing softly. “Are you any closer to getting him?”

He pressed a firm kiss to her head, just in front of her bun. 

“Maybe, Kingsley asked for Ron and me to head in early today to talk the case over. Hopefully we’ll finally catch him.”

“Good,” she said, slightly vicious. “that bastard deserves to be thrown in Azkaban to rot.”

Harry sighed, “He’ll get a trial first Gin. No more Sirius’.”

“You already know he’s guilty Harry. You have so much evidence.”

“Which, hopefully, means this trial will go quickly and he’ll get what he deserves.”

She smiled up at him, stretching for a brief kiss. “Alright, you have a shower, and I’ll finish up breakfast. We don’t want you to be late.”

“Sounds good.” He kissed her one last time, watching with a small smile as she slipped back into the bedroom.

His smile disappeared as he glanced back to the mirror, replaced by a light frown.

Whatever that had been, it had not felt like a dream.

It had been so long since he had had one of the intensity, and he was honestly thrown. Just what was he doing, dreaming about something like that?

Yes, the case he and Ron were on was…confronting, but Harry had never been particularly bothered by most of the other crimes that came across their desks.

Enduring a war, and sharing a mind with a Dark Lord for most of your life had the annoying habit of exposing you to the sickest and most disgusting acts imaginable. He had always been a rather unflappable person, and had suffered through a number of atrocities as well.

His intense reaction was almost more surprising than the dream itself.

Harry sighed again, stripping the rest of his clothes and jumping into the shower, pushing it out of his mind for now.

When he finally entered the kitchen, fully dressed, Ginny was in the living room. She was half in her Quidditch gear, leaving her upper body bare except for her bra.

“Nice.” Harry commented as he moved to the table where a plate sat for him. Ginny smirked at him from over her shoulder.

“When you get home,” she promised, “now hurry up and eat so you can get going.”

“Yes ma’am.” He saluted, taking a seat and a bite of his breakfast. He groaned in delight. “Have I told you you’re amazing?” He asked around the eggs.

“Not today you haven’t.” She laughed, reaching over him to snatch a piece of toast from his plate.

“You’re amazing.”

“I know.” She said through a mouthful, “You’re going to be late.”

He grinned, finishing his last few bites and placing his dishes in the sink. He kissed Ginny again, because he could and he would never get sick of the taste of her lips, then ducked into the fireplace with a handful of floo powder. “See you tonight. Kick their arses.”

“Always do,” she replied, leaning on the back of the couch, smiling at him. “stay safe. I love you.”

“Love you too.”

And then he was gone.

# OoO

“Get out of the way!” Harry shouted, feet pounding against the cobblestone floor as he followed his target.

People scrambled to the side, either simply reacting to the authority in his voice, or because they recognised him. Harry did not particularly care, so long as they _moved._

He shoved a poor man that was too slow to move out of his path and pumped his arms faster, eyes pinned to the fleeing figure of Robert Summers.

He wanted nothing more than to throw a hex, but with the street so full, he could hardly risk injuring some innocent bystander.

He and Ron had been completely caught by surprise when they had stumbled across the man, hiding in his half-sister’s abandoned shop. They had been following up on a lead from Kingsley, checking in on any family connection – close or distant – that Summers might use to avoid them.

They had just assumed the man would not be stupid enough to remain in such an obvious place, but clearly they had overestimated his intelligence.

“Summers!” He barked, causing more people to part. “Stop!”

Summers kept running – not that Harry had expected anything else. No one ever stopped when they ordered.

Summers tripped over a stray cart, sending items flying and causing another ruckus as he stumbled and almost fell. Despite the man’s girth though, he was remarkably agile, and was on his feet and running in a split second.

Harry bit back a curse as he leapt over the fallen items and shoved a few more people out of his path.

Ron was somewhere behind him, delayed due to a curse Summers had stupidly thrown into a crowd of shoppers, but Harry knew he would be following nonetheless.

Harry saw Summers veer to the side, and knew instantly where the man was headed.

If he thought he could somehow shake them in Knockturn Alley then he was even dumber than Harry thought.

He took the upcoming turn mere metres behind Summers, almost crashing into a haggard looking witch. The woman jolted in shock, and Harry barely slid to a stop in time to avoid slamming into her.

He pushed past her, somewhere between gentle and rough, and started off again. 

Fortunately, he had little trouble eating up the distance between them again. Summers was much like a bull, carving through the crowds like a knife. All Harry had to do was follow the gap.

Harry swerved around another corner, ducking under a broken pipe hanging down into the street.

He straightened in time to see Summers slip into a building, the door hanging half off its hinges, and most of the windows boarded up.

With narrowed eyes, Harry went after him.

He scaled the front steps and carefully tugged his wand from its holster.

Carefully, Harry peeked around the doorway, taking in the dusty, decrepit insides of what appeared to be shop. A number of glass containers lined the walls, with what looked like a counter towards the back.

There was some broken glass on the floor, and Harry stepped around it slowly, testing the floorboards before putting his full weight on them.

He paused just a few feet inside, eyes swinging in all directions, searching for his target.

A sharp creak to his left had him spinning and sending a simple _stupefy_ in that direction. 

Summers dodged with a yell, shooting a sickly yellow curse in retaliation. Harry stepped to the side, batting the curse away with a simple wave of his wand.

He jumped away when Summers continued his assault, gritting his teeth as the spells and curses hit his shield without pause.

Harry watched through the bright flashes as Summers began circling towards the staircase. He waited until Summers turned to bolt up the stairs before dropping his shield and giving chase yet again.

The sound of their footsteps on the wooden stairs was deafening, and it was hard enough navigating the dilapidated staircase, with its sharp turns and many levels; Harry was just grateful Summers was more preoccupied climbing than trying to stop him from following.

Harry vaulted up the last few steps, catching the door that was swinging closed with his shoulder and crashing into the top floor with none of his usual grace. 

He just spotted Summers scrambling out of the far window, the scuffed tips of the man’s boots disappearing as he clawed his way onto the roof.

Harry swore, tearing after the other. He pulled himself out of the window, grasping at the lip of the roof and tugging himself upwards. 

“Summers!” He snapped, seeing the trembling man rushing to the other side of the roof with no caution. “Enough of this crap. You’re done.” He claimed the other’s wand with an _expelliarmus,_ tucking it in his belt.

Summers shook his head frantically, backing away further. “No! No!” The man cried, “I’m innocent, I never touched her!”

“If you’re innocent, why did you attack my colleague and I? Why did you run?” Harry tread closer, keeping half an eye on where he stepped and the other on how close Summers was to the edge of the roof.

“You’re aurors!” Summers shouted, stepping back in fear as Harry prowled ever nearer. “You’re like wild dogs! You don’t listen!”

“It’s not my job to listen to your whines.” Harry commented, stopping just a few feet away. “I just bring in people like you.”

“I didn’t do it!”

Harry scowled, his patience wearing thin. The chase, first through Diagon Alley, then Knockturn Alley, had already pushed him to his limit. Summers’ pathetic attempts to change his mind were doing nothing to endear him.

“Look, if you’re innocent, why not just come down to the Department and we can clear all this up then? Running makes you look guilty.” But Summers was already shaking his head again.

Harry sighed. “Fine.” He said, raising his wand, ready to knock the bastard out and bodily drag him into a cell.

There was very real fear in Summers eyes, and Harry took a moment to wonder if it was at the prospect of facing justice for his assault on his niece, or because he was staring down the wand of Harry Potter.

Perhaps a combination. There was a reason Harry was one of the youngest aurors on the force, why his training only lasted a short eight months rather than the customary three years, why his record was quickly rising to the level of Alastor Moody himself.

_From here, he could see the entirety of Knockturn Alley, the twisted dark buildings and small blobs of witches and wizards scurrying along._

Harry shook his head, blinking heavily as his vision swam suddenly. His lungs seized and he tried to suck in air, finding it difficult to breathe. 

_What the hell is going on?_ He thought as a rush of blistering cold rolled through him that had nothing to do with the wind.

He could still see Summers, but behind him, everything was wrong.

 _Why is it night?_ Harry clenched his eyes shut, and hissed quietly at the budding pain in his head.

Someone grabbed his wrist, jolting him back. Harry slammed his fist into Summers’ nose, forcing the man to let go from where he had been trying to pry Harry’s wand out of his hand. The man stumbled away.

Harry stopped breathing as his vision overlapped again as he finally got a look at where they were.

It was different, surrounding buildings had changed, the sun was shining cheerily down on them, the tiles he was standing on were chipped and blackened.

But it was the same.

_He stood, moving to the very edge of the roof so the tips of his shoes were overhanging the night sky._

Summers slammed into him, sending them both crashing to the ground. Harry grunted as his head snapped back and cracked onto the roof, and he shoved Summers off of him.

He shot to his feet, but before he could raise his wand, Summers was on him again, trying to pin him with his larger body.

Harry bucked, switching their positions and sending two sharp punches to the man’s head, trying to put him down.

Summers reached up wildly, flinging his own fist. Harry swayed back to avoid the hit, but lost his advantage as Summers kicked him away. 

He went rolling, and his gut lurched when the roof disappeared from under him.

His arms shot out and gripped onto the gutter, stopping his fall with a terrible screech as the aged metal dipped precariously with his weight.

_He wondered if they would miss him, if they would even care._

The metal screamed again, the section Harry was holding onto almost completely tearing free. He cursed, the beginnings of fear licking at him.

_He took one last moment to gaze over at the beautiful, twisted world, before tipping forward._

He could hear someone calling his name, but his attention had narrowed down to the slowly breaking gutter.

He could not use his wand, Ron was somewhere else completely, and he doubted Summers would suddenly grow a conscious and help him.

“Fuck.”

_He wanted to die._

The metal snapped.

_I want to live._

# OoO

He groaned, eyes screwing shut against the harsh light spilling through the room.

Harry brought a hand up and pressed his palm against his head as he pushed himself upright. The soft, heavy blanket he had had draped over him dropped to his lap in a clump.

He leaned forward over his legs, eyes still shut as he waited for the intense pounding in his head to _piss off._

Harry gripped at his hair, and slowly opened his eyes.

“…A hospital?” He murmured, voice sounding horribly thick.

He sat up straighter, glancing around the room; taking in the bland curtains, the open window, and the small white vase on the table next to him, a handful of bright flowers on the verge of wilting.

_What?_

Harry looked down at his covered legs, frowning thoughtfully. 

_But…what happened? Why am I in the hospital? Did I get hurt?_

He moved to pull the blanket back, but froze when he caught sight of his hand for the first time.

His eyes widened as he studied the pale limb, turning it over to see the same skin colour on the other side – a shade severely different from his normal warm brown. He held the other one up, chest heaving when he saw it was wrong too.

He took a shuddering breath, dropping his arms and ripping the blanket off of him. His feet were the same, and the sight of them – not his own, _what the fuck was going on?_ – had him springing from the bed in panic.

Harry backed away, but he could not escape his own body. He knocked the side table so the vase wobbled, and slammed into a wall, feeling something dig into his back.

He blindly turned and realised it was a door.

Harry shoved the door open. He rushed inside and was confronted with a wide, shining mirror.

He half-collapsed on the basin, staring at the face looking back at him.

It was all _wrong._

Too pale, too smooth, too _fucking young._

His hair was more brown than black, and his _eyes._

Gone were the familiar sharp green eyes he had once abhorred, then treasured because of their connection with his mother. In their place, two soft grey ones pierced him.

Harry’s jaw clenched, his hands tightened around the edges of the basin, and his magic crackled around him as his emotions erupted.

“What the fuck is going on?” He whispered, reaching up to touch a cheek that did not belong to him. He felt the smooth skin of a boy that had never shaved, felt the underdeveloped jawline, the straight, almost feminine nose.

He wrenched his hand away in disgust, because this was not him.

There was no stubble, no glasses, no untameable hair and – he glanced up – no scar.

This was not Harry Potter staring back at him. This was…someone else.

He stepped away from the mirror, turning his back on the wrong reflection and closing his eyes. He pressed his hands to his face and tried to steady his breathing.

_Calm down. Calm down. Clearly something’s gone wrong. This has to be a dream. There’s no way this is possible. Think, Potter. What happened?_

Harry slowed his breathing, casting his mind back.

He had been on a case with Ron. They had found Summers. There was a chase, they got separated. He had followed Summers to the roof –

His eyes snapped open.

_The roof._

It had rocked him at the time, but he was positive that that roof was the same one from his dream. The one the boy had jumped off of.

 _Idiot._ He thought. _Never let yourself get distracted on the job. Fucking hell, no wonder he got the jump on me._

They had fought, and then…

_The gutter dipping, the screech of metal, the rush of wind in his ear._

“I fell.” He finished hollowly.

That was right. The gutter had given out, and he had dropped.

But that did not explain why he was as he was. Why was he in a child’s body? A boy that could hardly be more than fourteen?

Harry exited the bathroom, took two steps, and promptly tripped over his own feet. He stumbled into the bed, a fierce scowl appearing on his face as he stared down at his - considerably shorter - legs. He huffed, and leaned heavily against the bed, glancing around the room once more. His eyes landed on the clipboard at the end of the bed, and he reached out to pluck it from its place.

_Name: Nathan Ciro_

_D.O.B: 17 March, 1927_

Underneath were a list of simple observations, temperature, blood pressure, and more. Yet Harry’s eyes had trouble moving past the date of birth.

The 17th of March, 1927.

_1927._

He lowered the clipboard, staring blankly at the opposite wall. 

_1927…how is that even possible? He’d have to be at least seventy-two by now._

He did not like this at all.

Harry moved to stand, and as he did his foot brushed against something. He looked down and saw another file sitting on the floor. He scooped it up and started flicking through it, realising almost immediately that it was about him – or rather, the kid who’s body he was in.

The list of injuries he found had his eyebrows raising. Broken bones. Torn tendons. A shattered wrist. Swelling in the brain. It just went on.

The most eye-catching one though was the coma. Three-months, completely unresponsive. 

Harry flipped to the last page, breezing over the short hand-written notes, and coming to a stop on one in particular.

_Patient suffered from a severe fall, but showed signs of sexual assault…_

Harry snapped it closed, dropping it beside the clipboard and taking a deep breath. This could not be happening. He pressed his hands on the soft mattress when they began shaking minutely, willing it to stop. His mind was in chaos. He bit his lip, pushing through the confusion and fear and multitude of other emotions, and focussed on what was important. First thing first.

He looked down at his – Nathan’s – hands and clenched them repeatedly. They moved on his command, without a hint of pain.

He slowly started stretching, noting the lack of injury – not even the slightest twinge. Whatever these healers had done, they had done it well. 

Harry looked back at the documents, eyes inevitably landing on the damning date of birth again.

This made absolutely no sense, but the documents were screaming facts at him.

A young boy, who was assaulted, and then suffered from a fall from a great height?

Harry did not believe in coincidences. This was too specific, too many connections were being drawn.

What were the chances that he would have a dream about a situation similar to what this boy faced, and then _wake up in his body._

He looked down at his hands again, studying the delicate things critically. 

Now that his mind was kicking into overdrive, his panic began to ebb away.

He had no earthly idea what had happened to him, if this was just another intense, disturbing dream, or if this was really happening.

All he knew is that, as of right now, he had no choice but to play along with whatever happened, until he figured out a way to fix this.

Whatever _this_ was.

His head snapped up when he heard the door to his room open. A young woman entered, worry etched into her pretty features.

Their eyes locked, and she froze just on the threshold. 

Harry raised an eyebrow at her.

She promptly dashed from the room, shouting for a healer.

He sighed deeply, taking a seat back on the bed and forced himself to wait for her to return. Maybe then he could finally start getting some answers.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I am honestly a little shocked at the response, but absolutely giddy nonetheless. And the amount of you guys that have already read Haribo's masterpiece makes me want to cry because finally there are others - literally no one I know has read it and my heart hurts.
> 
> But anyway, hope you guys enjoy the new chapter. No Tom yet, but for those of you that know me from CS, you know I tend to spend some time building a plot and setting things up. Rest assured though, we'll get there haha~
> 
>  **Warning:** There is some discussion of rape and suicide attempts in this chapter again. And these will be recurring themes, okay?

“Can you catch this ball for me, Nathan?”

Harry bit back a groan as Healer Johnson held up the soft fabric ball in question. Honestly, he wanted nothing more than to get some bloody _answers,_ but the older man was significantly wily. Every time Harry so much as hinted at a question, Johnson kindly rebuffed him.

No one would enjoy being in this situation without even the basic facts, and here Harry was without even the date or time.

He understood the necessity of assessing his physical health, but that did not mean he had to like it.

Regardless of the scowl that wanted very much to cross his face, he nodded in agreement.

Johnson gently tossed him the soft ball from where he stood.

Harry followed its movements critically, and reached out to grab it as it came to him.

However, he missed, and it hit his chest. Instinctively, his arms rose to cradle the thing before gravity got to it, but his failure had him hissing in frustration.

This was going to take some getting used to. He had only been awake for little over an hour, and he was still having trouble adjusting to being so much _smaller._

Walking was ridiculous, as he kept trying to take larger steps than this body could actually do; and his hand-eye coordination was only slightly less miserable. 

For someone who relied so heavily on running and climbing and jumping, and needed to be able to catch and punch and handle things with care for his job, this lack of ability was swiftly destroying his patience.

They had been doing these short exercises for almost twenty minutes, with little improvement. He just felt so disconnected and it was driving him mad not being able to do such simple tasks.

A comforting hand landed on his scrawny shoulder and patted it. He looked up to see the kind elderly healer watching him with a gentle smile.

“It’s expected for you to have some trouble the first couple of days, Nathan. You were in a coma for three months. That’s a significant amount of time. Your body is just readjusting itself to the changes.”

He lead Harry to over to one of the closest chairs. Harry stared down at his feet in concentration, measuring the distance and taking small, shuffling steps. He sat, grateful that he no longer had to worry about not tripping over himself.

Johnson sat across from him, watching him closely.

Harry skilfully avoided the man’s probing gaze by focussing on the ball in his hands, squeezing it and moving it from left to right.

“Nathan,” Johnson said softly, “I know this is probably very scary for you right now. But I want you to know that we will do whatever we can to help you.”

 _I think it’ll take more than what you’ve got to help me,_ Harry thought privately. He could appreciate the sentiment though, and recognised the sincerity behind the words. For all his dodging questions, Johnson was a genuine man.

“Can you tell me why I was out for so long?” Harry asked, eyes raising to stare at the other man. 

The healer blinked in minor shock, and Harry wondered just what was so surprising about the question. Surely he could at least tell him that. 

But Harry could see the refusal building in the man’s mouth and carried on before he could speak.

“I already read my file,” he said plainly, “it’d been left in my room. I know what happened to me.”

Johnson frowned, and Harry suspected he was making a note of which nurse would have done that. Leaving a patient’s personal file in their room – regardless of if they were in a coma or not – was a serious breach of protocol.

The man nodded though, hesitant.

“When you fell,” he began slowly, eyes scrutinising him. Harry met his gaze confidently, and the man continued. “you landed on your front, and your head suffered from an extreme amount of trauma. It caused some swelling to your brain, and your body shut down.”

Harry nodded, and the healer started again when he showed no outward sign of distress or discomfort. “Your body recovered quite well, and we managed to reverse the damage. But your mind…” Again, he hesitated. “It was as if you were just…gone. Nothing we did could pull you back, you were unresponsive to everything.”

The healer rubbed his hands together, an almost nervous glint to his eyes. “To be perfectly honest young man, we’re shocked you woke up at all.”

Harry dropped his gaze, eyes unseeingly tracing the patterns on the floor. He did not like this. 

The way Johnson had said _‘gone’_ was rather telling. Nathan Ciro had been dead in all but body. And now here Harry sat, inhabiting his skin like some invasive spirit. He felt sick.

“Right.” He replied, for a lack of anything better to say.

The man reached over and touched his knee, smiling again, though it was a little stilted.

“We’ll get through this,” he assured him, “I’m sure it’ll be temporary. It is possible for someone with retrograde amnesia to recover most, if not all of their memories.”

Harry made a vague noise of agreement.

Amnesia had been the safest option for him, and after having dealt with a case of it before, Harry already knew how the illness differed from patient to patient. By using amnesia as an excuse, he could cover the gaps in his knowledge quite easily, while still being able to recall certain things without arising too much suspicion.

Their heads shot up when they heard voices just outside. Harry glanced over at the healer, eyebrow cocked.

The man cleared his throat, and pushed himself up to his feet. “That would be,” he gave another awkward smile, “your parents.”

_Parents._

Harry closed his eyes to mask the annoyance he knew would be visible.

_Fuck._

Of course Nathan Ciro still had parents. And of course they would be notified the moment he woke up. He breathed through his nose and resisted the urge to massage his forehead.

This just kept getting better.

“Now, I’ll have to inform them of the situation.” The man said, oblivious to Harry’s turbulent thoughts. “It would be best that they were prepared for your – reaction.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, “you should go do that.” He told him, attention on the door. The voices had risen to an almost-shout at this point. 

The healer dallied in front of him, and Harry knew he was likely throwing the man off with his attitude. 

What would a normal patient be experiencing right now? Anxiety? Fear? Surely not barely concealed irritation.

Johnson’s moment of indecision cost them, for the next thing they knew, the door to the office burst open and two people were sweeping inside.

The woman – middle-aged and blonde and well-dressed – locked onto him immediately. She started towards him, something undoubtedly fierce about her. Harry shot to his feet, every instinct in him demanding him to put her down before she reached him.

He twitched to do so, but stopped himself at the last moment, because her arms were wrapping around him and she was pulling him into her chest in a hug so tight he almost mistook it for an attack.

“Oh _Nathan,”_ she breathed in his ear. She sounded so _relieved_ and Harry felt like the biggest fraud in the history of the world. “you are awake.”

“Lady Ciro,” the healer began, coming forward as if to tug her away. “please, you have to understand -”

“I understand that _my son_ has been awake for almost an hour at this point, and you tried to stop me from seeing him.” She pulled away from Harry, though only enough to fix the man with a glare as sharp as a dagger.

“My Lady -” Johnson tried again, desperately. “There is…something you need to be aware of.”

Harry debated whether he should detangle himself from the woman – Nathan’s bloody _mother_ – or let her hold onto him for a little bit longer. His heart hurt for her, because what was coming would most definitely upset her, even though it was necessary for him.

“What is it?” The stern-looking man behind Lady Ciro said, so obviously her husband if the ring on his finger was anything to go by. He could see the resemblance between the man and Nathan. It mirrored that of Harry and his own father.

The healer gestured at Harry, expression falling into a perfectly acceptable mask of compassion. “Nathan, well. The injury to his mind was more substantial then we realised.” He began.

The mother’s arms tighten around him in fear.

“I’m afraid he doesn’t remember anything.”

Harry watched carefully as Nathan’s mother’s face crumbled. Her arms fell away from him and she stepped back in shock. She glanced from Johnson to him, blue eyes searching his face almost manically.

And Harry looked back at her with the polite concern of a stranger, because that was all she was to him.

This woman was not his mother. His mother had sacrificed her very life to protect him, with her fiery red hair and stunning green eyes. The two could not look any more different if they tried.

“No.” Lady Ciro mumbled, her head shaking in denial. _“No.”_ She repeated, more forcibly. Her hands came up to grasp at his forearms. “No, he has to remember. You know me, Nathan, yes? You remember me.”

Harry looked behind her to see the same horrible hope shining in her husband’s grey eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, watching as their spirits were dashed. “I don’t.”

Harry watched as the mother turned and buried her face in her husband’s chest. He felt much like he had just informed them of their son’s death.

He supposed, to them, Nathan might as well be gone.

It was a horrible thing, for them to have to endure months of this body lying still on a bed, then have their hopes raised when they were told of his awakening. Only to discover he was not their son – not really, anyway.

Harry waited silently as the two consoled each other, batting away the guilt in his heart for essentially stealing their child from them.

“Is there any way to reverse it?” Lord Ciro asked, sounding as miserable as his wife looked.

Johnson made a vague gesture with his hands. “Only time will tell. There are several ways to recover lost memories, but Nathan is so very young, and using them could inadvertently do more harm than good. The best course would be to wait, and slowly reintroduce him to his life at a rate he is comfortable with.”

The older man turned to Harry, nodding at him. “Rushing these matters never works well, and we must all be patient with Nathan, to help him through this process.”

Harry slipped his hands into his pockets to stop himself from fiddling. It hardly seemed appropriate at this time to do so.

“I was hoping to wait until you got here to go over some of the crucial facts with him, as support for him.” The healer had turned back to the parents, showing them where they could sit. 

Harry’s interest came roaring back now that he would be getting some answers. Finally, he would be able to start working out a plan. 

“Yes, yes of course.” Lady Ciro said, her husband and her drifting to seat themselves. Harry moved to sit across from them, hands coming out to fold in his lap. The woman faced him again, uncertainty written all over her face. “I -” she stopped herself to take breath.

“What do we even say?” She asked quietly.

“How about we let Nathan ask, and then fill in more as we go along?” The healer suggested.

Harry almost sighed in relief at being given a small level of control over this. He had no desire to hear all about what kind of boy Nathan Ciro had been, because that would just make him feel even more like some sort of murderer.

“What’s the date?” He asked briskly, falling back into his auror training to stay as impartial as he could to whatever was said.

Lady Ciro’s eyes closed heavily, as if the simple question reinforced for her that her son had no memory of her. “The fifteenth of January.” She said, voice wobbling slightly.

Harry nodded, “And the year?”

“1942.”

 _Fuck…Fuck!_ Harry shut his eyes and sighed, doing the maths. _Fifty-eight years. How in the hell is this even possible?_

At least he knew how old this body was now. Fourteen, turning fifteen in March. That meant Nathan would have been in fourth year. He stored the information away, pushing past the surreal thoughts and denials to focus on getting more.

“Where are we?” They had to be in Britain. The accents were more than enough to tell him that, and while Harry was sure he knew where they were exactly, it never hurt to check.

Johnson answered this, “We’re at St Mungo’s, Nathan. It’s a hospital for our kind. We are in a ward that specifically cares for cases like your own – long-term residents, as it were.”

Harry leaned back in his seat, relieved that he was at least on familiar soil. It might be a few decades off, but Britain would always be Britain to him. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. 

His eyes strayed to the couple in front of him, taking in the tension in their seated forms, the grip they had on the other’s hand, and the way they watched him with such longing in their expressions it was actually hard to look at them.

“What are your names?” He asked, trying to soften his tone so he sounded less like an interrogator and more like a memory-less teenage boy.

Lady Ciro jerked, as if startled, and her eyes watered. “We are your parents,” she began, voice strained horribly. Harry politely kept his eyes focussed on her face, and not her hands, which were trembling. “I – my name is Cynthia Ciro. I am your mother, Nathan.”

“And I am Benedict Ciro, your father.” Lord Ciro added, his tone soft and careful. 

Harry looked between them, taking in what he could.

They were both understandably distressed with the situation, but he pushed past the obvious and looked closer.

Their clothes were impeccably made and of the finest materials. Along with the title the healer had let loose, Harry concluded they were a very well-off family. 

Benedict was stern and older, and he carried himself confidently. His hair and eyes matched Nathan’s precisely.

Cynthia was young, fresh-faced and stunning in her beauty. Her golden hair reminded him faintly of Luna, and Harry’s heart ached suddenly.

He was truly, utterly alone. 

The realisation hit him like a brick.

The wave of despair that rose in him was overwhelming, and he pressed his hand over his eyes to keep his composure as he steadied his breathing.

There was a soft rustle, and then arms were surrounding him again. He recognised Cynthia’s kind voice trilling in his ear, murmuring comforting nothingness as she combed her fingers through his hair.

Harry neither pushed her away, nor pulled her closer. He simply sat and soaked in the warmth of her body against his, and tried to battle against his emotions.

He was vaguely aware of Benedict’s strong voice asking for privacy, and of Johnson’s quiet departure from the room.

“Oh, my son,” Cynthia whispered brokenly, “we will fix this, I promise. This will all get better. We will get through this together.”

Harry leaned further back, silently asking to be released. Her hold on him remained for a good two seconds, before she let him go again.

Harry sighed to himself, rubbing at his eyes. He was exhausted already, but there was still so much he had to go over before he slept.

“What happened?” He asked quietly, gazing up at them from where he sat hunched over. “Why am I in here?”

He caught the flash of anger that burned in Benedict’s eyes, and the storm in Cynthia’s that was so at odds with the worried lines on her face. The two shared a glance.

Harry narrowed his eyes, preparing himself to ask again, when they sagged. “Are you absolutely sure you…want to know?” Benedict asked gently, “It is – not good.” He pushed the last two words out with a visible effort.

“Yes.” Harry said before the question was even finished. “Tell me.”

“Well,” Cynthia said, and before his eyes, Harry watched as a mask fell over her features. It was such a pureblood trait, to be able to wipe their emotions so effectively. And, he knew from experience, a perfect defence mechanism. “you were attacked.”

“And?” 

Benedict picked up when his wife faltered. “And you were… _assaulted.”_

Harry looked between them, mouth tightening as they danced around the subject. He could sympathise with their plight, but he was a war veteran and an auror, and being handled like spun-glass was not something he was accustomed to.

“You mean raped.” He supplied for them, and they flinched at the ugly word. Harry glanced off to the side, wondering if this was cruel of him to force them to relive what had happened to their child.

He needed to know though. He had to absolutely _sure_ of the connection between his dream and this.

“And I tried to kill myself?” He asked, purposefully keeping his gaze away from them so he could not see their reaction. Harry saw them nod out of his peripheral – and was that not weird, being able to see so clearly without glasses.

“I’ve been here for three months,” he continued stoically. “did they catch them?”

Here, Benedict’s magic thrashed aggressively. “No.” He practically snarled. “There were no witnesses, and Knockturn Alley, where… _it_ happened, is not the most reputable place.”

Harry pressed a hand to his chest, rubbing the spot absently. He remembered the dream vividly. _‘No witnesses’,_ his arse. 

Harry was not entirely surprised by the shot of rage that ran through him. His entire life had been filled with tragedy after tragedy, misfortune following misfortune. He was no stranger to the harshness of the world, and knew there was no possible way to save everyone.

But he burned for revenge. He wanted to find those responsible for putting Nathan in the hospital, and he wanted them _punished._

It was a familiar darkness he danced with every day of his job. The thin line between justice and vengeance was so easy to cross, and Harry had always been careful to keep himself chained to the right side.

He also knew, however, that sometimes the ‘right’ thing, was not always the _right_ thing.

 _Maybe this is why I’m here,_ he thought distantly, _to catch the ones who did this._

It was a silly notion. Trapped in a boy’s body, there was little Harry could actually do. 

He somehow doubted Cynthia and Benedict would be willing to let him just saunter his way down Knockturn Alley, tearing through whoever he got his hands on until he found the ones he was looking for.

No, there had to be another reason this was happening to him. Harry just had to bide his time and figure this out.

But to do that, he needed to leave this hospital.

He turned to Nathan’s parents.

“Can you get me out of here?”

# OoO

It took just two days for the Ciro’s to get him released. Considering Johnson had wanted to hold him for observation for at least a week, Harry greatly appreciated whatever weight they had thrown around.

On the morning of the third day since he had woken in Nathan’s body – and yes, Harry had come to terms with the fact that he was officially stuck in this mess, almost sixty years in the bloody past – Harry was escorted out of St Mungo’s by Benedict and Cynthia.

There were no detours on their journey, which Harry was both grateful for, and annoyed by. He knew he had to get researching immediately – and the Ciro’s family library would be as good a place to start as any – but he would have liked to observe the changes a little more before he was whisked inside their home.

Harry shrugged off the coat they had given him and held it in his hands as he let his eyes roam over the foyer.

He might have been a little off in his earlier estimate. The Ciro’s had to be on par with the Malfoy’s, if this was their home. 

Harry wondered why he had never heard of such an influential family before, then immediately decided he would rather not know.

A lot could happen in sixty years, and even though he had just met them, the idea that something tragic could befall these two kind people somewhere between now and his own time was unpleasant. 

Cynthia and Benedict stood calmly behind him, though there was an expectant and hopeful air around them. 

_They want to see me recognise this place,_ he thought with a touch of sympathy. _They want me to look at these rooms and think of home._

He turned to them and gave a stiff smile, shaking his head lightly. 

Cynthia wilted, and Benedict’s arm wrapped around her shoulders in support.

“It is okay, sweetheart,” Cynthia told him, reaching to stroke his cheek, only to draw her hand away in uncertainty. “Simon should be here by now.” She glanced over to her husband, who nodded in agreement. “We have already told him all about your amnesia, but he was so anxious to see you again we let him come home for today.”

Harry hid his grimace at the reminder of Nathan’s twin brother, lurking somewhere in the house. Cynthia and Benedict had revealed the fact to him earlier, and he was not particularly excited to have a child hover around him in concern or brotherly affection.

This would have been much easier if Nathan were an only child.

“Great,” Harry said with false enthusiasm. “I can’t wait to meet him.”

They guided him through the foyer and to a side room, taking the time to point out certain paintings or areas that had apparently held significance to Nathan.

Harry smiled and nodded.

Benedict separated from them for a few minutes, eventually finding them again in another hallway. 

Cynthia was telling him about Nathan’s great-grandfather, and was speaking adamantly with his painting when Harry caught Benedict returning, and just behind him, was a boy.

Unlike Nathan, this boy was a perfect mix of his parents. The brown hair of his father, yet the eyes, mouth and nose of his mother.

 _This must be Simon,_ Harry thought, tilting his body to face them.

Cynthia cut off and followed his gaze, a smile coming to her face. “Simon.” She greeted, love obvious in her voice.

Harry waited for some cue as to how to act, when Simon burst into a run and crashed into him, arms wrapping around him and squeezing tightly. The other boy buried his face in Harry’s neck, and with a jolt, Harry realised that he was trembling.

For a lack of anything else to do, he dropped his hands cautiously on Simon’s back, patting the other boy in a sad attempt at comfort.

“I am so happy you’re back!” Simon said wetly, pulling back to grin at him. “I was so worried about you, brother.”

Harry returned the smile with a little one of his own, finding the boy and his care for his twin sweet.

“Thank you, Simon.”

“Mother and Father have already told me all about it,” Simon said seriously, his head cocking to the side. “you really do not remember anything?”

Harry scratched at the back of his neck, “Uh, no, unfortunately. Not a thing.”

“Oh.” Simon’s expression drooped, before brightening slightly. “Well, what are brothers for then? I will be here for whatever you need.”

Cynthia clapped her hands, expression delighted if a bit wistful. “Simon, darling, can you show Nathan back to his room. Your father and I must go take care of a few more things at St Mungo’s, and the Ministry, but we will be back in time for dinner.”

“Of course, Mother.” Simon agreed, slipping his arm through Harry’s with an ease that spoke volumes.

Harry was so busy staring down at the entwined limbs that he violently flinched back when a pair of lips brushed against his forehead.

Cynthia’s blue eyes were wide, and her hand had risen to her mouth in what looked like horror. “I am so sorry, Nathan.” She said, sounding distraught. “I was not even thinking -”

“It’s fine,” Harry stopped her apology. He could hardly blame the woman for doing something that was likely a habit bred from years of repetition. A mother kissing her son goodbye – it was not her fault for forgetting. “I’m sorry, it’ll just take some getting used to.”

Benedict gently took hold of her, and when she saw the easy smile on Harry’s face, she began to relax. “Very well, we will return this afternoon.”

Harry watched as they left down the hall, hand-in-hand. 

_They’re hurt,_ he thought with pity. _They’re hurting and me being here is not helping. They want their son, and I can’t give them that._

A tug on his arm drew his attention back to his new brother.

“Come.” Simon ordered, pulling him in the opposite direction. His steps were confident and measured. Comfortable. 

Harry wished he felt the same.

He followed along obediently, mentally tracing the path they took until they came to a stop at two large oak doors.

“This is yours.” Simon told him.

Harry stopped in front of the doors, hands suddenly clammy. 

He was already invading this boy’s body. And now here he was, in his home, with his family, about to take over one of the last things Nathan Ciro possessed. His room.

Harry wanted to leave, but with the presence of Simon heavy at his back, he had no choice but to open the doors.

_All or nothing._

It was an beautiful room, filled with light colours and with traces of silver along the furniture and ceiling. To the far end was a large bed, and a simple desk.

What Harry liked most were the windows though, big and open, offering a splendid view of the lush green grounds.

He walked inside carefully, eternally glad that he had finally gotten used to the change in height and could properly take a step without making a fool of himself.

Harry gazed around the room, turning as he studied the space.

His eyes landed on Simon, who was watching him coldly from where he was leaning against the door.

There was something in the other boy’s gaze that caused Harry’s attention to snap to him.

Simon’s next smile was bitter and ugly compared to the relief and love there before. The change had Harry’s feet automatically shifting to ground himself more.

“You know I hoped you would never wake up, but you have always been a hindrance, brother.” Simon sighed loudly, eyes darkening. “Always getting in my way, always having to be the centre of attention. These past three months have been the best of my life, but you just had to wake up.”

Harry blinked at the spew of vicious words, honestly surprised. He knew from his experiences with the Weasley’s that siblings did not always get along, but this was far more extreme than he had been expecting.

He narrowed his eyes, suddenly able to see the same traits in Simon that Draco once had.

“I mean, there must be something seriously wrong with you if you actually _wanted_ to come back to your life. I would have thought you finally wizened up to the fact that nobody wants you around when you jumped like a coward, but I guess I overestimated your intelligence.”

Harry walked closer, keeping his expression blank. He had been willing to play nice with whoever Nathan’s twin was, for the sake of all of them. Their family had already been through so much, the lest he could do was act nice.

But he already had enough problems to handle.

Whether or not he looked it, he was an adult, and he was an auror, and he did not have the time or the patience to deal with a spoilt little shit.

Simon sneered at him.

“You are a waste of space, brother.”

Harry reached out and grabbed the boy by his collar, yanking him in close. The suddenness of it had Simon stumbling, his eyes wide.

“Listen here you brat,” Harry began, voice as savage as his eyes. “you can stand there and say all the crap you want, but I’m going to do you the courtesy and just this once, give you a warning.” He shoved the boy back so he was out of the room.

Simon still looked stunned.

“Stay the fuck out of my way.”

Harry slammed the door in his face.

He leaned against it with a groan, head smacking back against the firm wood and closing his eyes.

“This is such a mess.” He mumbled, hand running roughly though his hair.

Harry turned his attention back to the room, resolving to leave dealing with Simon to a later date. Right now, he had to start researching.

He walked around the room, careful not to touch anything. He treated the room like he would a crime scene, or the room of a suspect. 

To better understand what was happening to him, he had to understand who Nathan Ciro was. And that meant pulling everything in this room apart until he could get a clearer picture.

With a sigh, Harry got to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As some of you pointed out in the comments, a lot of your typical HP/TR time-travel fics have Harry, not exactly weak-willed or anything like that, but still someone who occasionally bends to the whims of others. From this chapter, you can see that Harry is not going to be going down that path.
> 
> He's older, he's smarter and he's a hell of a lot more dangerous than canon-Harry. I really like the idea of an older, hardened Harry who flirts with the darkness we all know is inside of him, but still refuses to succumb to it.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for reviewing~ Glad to see so many people are enjoying this so far, and enjoyed the twist of Simon! I have a feeling a lot of you will grow to hate him haha (comic fans - you'll know what I mean.)
> 
> Just to clarify some things.  
> 1\. As of right now, Harry and Tom probably won't be in a romantic relationship, which is why I left it was just a "&" rather than a "/", though that could be liable to change depending on how the story develops. Rest assured, I will change the tags if that does happen, and give you guys an heads up. I really just want to focus on the fascination and dynamic they'll have with each other, before even considering doing anything sexual.
> 
> 2\. I do kinda have tumblr, but there's nothing on it so probably not worth looking for it. Sorry~
> 
> 3\. In regards to updates, CS is my main priority, so it will most likely _always_ be updated before this one. Which is good for fans of both, since to update one, I must push myself to update the other. Hopefully that continues to give me extra motivation haha.
> 
> 4\. This story is only loosely based on "At the End of the Road", so I will only loosely be following certain aspects of the comic. It won't be a carbon-copy (obviously) and it will likely stray a lot from the actual plot of the comic.
> 
> I think that's everything....Eh, hopefully. Onto the chapter lovelies!

Harry sat with his legs crossed on the plush carpet ground, acting as the epicentre of the carefully constructed chaos around him.

He looked out over this map of Nathan’s life, and felt nothing but sympathy for the child.

At first glance it was all perfectly ordinary – exactly what one might expect from a fourteen year old boy. 

Clothes, books, random sentimental pieces that had accumulated over the years. Nothing abnormal.

But it was that that hurt Harry the most.

There were no pictures of the boy himself, or his friends. No letters addressed to him. Nothing he could see that could have been a gift from someone close that was not his parents. There was no personality, no _spark_.

There was such a distinct lack of warmth.

Harry thought back to Simon’s ruthless remarks, as well as the chilling glint in his eyes, and barely resisted the urge to hunt the little bastard down and break his jaw.

He cast one last, pitying look at the sad collection around him, and pushed himself to his feet.

There was little doubt in his mind anymore. Nathan lived a sad life before his attack. His parents – while completely doting and loving – were clearly not aware of how sad their child had been. 

And Simon deserved to be pushed into a pool filled with grindylow, as far as Harry was concerned. What kind of brother – what kind of _twin_ – could be so horrid to their own blood?

He remembered Fred and George. The complete trust the two had had for each other, the utter certainty, the way the two could share a glance and just _know._

Of course, Harry knew he had barely any context over the relationship between Nathan and Simon. As much as it pained him, he had to wonder if they had always been like this? Playing the sweet, loving siblings for their parents, while trying to torment the other the moment they were free of scrutiny?

But no, that did not make any sense.

If that were the case, then why did Simon seem so completely thrown when Harry had stood up for himself? If they fought regularly, then Simon should not have been caught off-guard like that.

No. 

Simon was clearly used to holding the power when dealing with his brother.

Harry narrowed his eyes.

Well, if he tried anything again, Harry would simply put him back in his place. He was not one to just sit twiddling his thumbs as someone confronted him. He hit back twice as hard until people got the message, or they stayed down. Whichever came first.

Harry sighed and ruffled his hair, grimacing as it easily fluttered back into its previous position. 

He missed his own hair, dammit. 

Harry placed his hands on his hips, finally turning his attention away from the array of Nathan’s items and looking around the spacious room once again.

This could not be all of it.

_He’s a teenage boy. Likely a loner if his brother is that much of a twat. He’d have to have a secret stash somewhere; a journal – something._

With that in mind, Harry approached the bed, eyeing it with suspicion. He slowly began feeling his way around the edges of the mattress, tucking his fingers in every crevice he could.

He knelt and stuck his head under the base, wandlessly casting a _lumos_ to illuminate the dim area.

_Nothing._

Harry sat back on his hunches, frowning to himself.

There was a limit to the number of places Nathan could have hidden something, and Harry had to keep in mind that the boy was only fourteen. That cut out a large amount of concealment spells he could have possibly known or used. Harry knew from experience that children were hardly the craftiest beings alive.

He made his way to the wardrobe, shuffling his way through what was still hanging and through the drawers. He dug under the neatly folded clothes before pushing them back into place, all rumpled.

His eyes jumped left and right, finally coming to rest on a large, dark suitcase pushed up onto the upper shelf.

“Score.” He said with a grin, hands moving to once again wandlessly levitate the thing down to him.

It landed on the ground without a sound, and Harry unlocked it.

He hefted the heavy lid open and was immediately assaulted with green and silver. His buzz at his find shrivelled astonishingly fast.

“Oh you have _got_ to be kidding me.” He hissed. “He’s a Slytherin? Bloody hell.”

Harry knew he had to get to Hogwarts. He needed the vast resources in its library to begin trying to find his way out of this mess. He knew he would have to play the student. He just had not expected to have to play a snake as well.

“Just great.” He muttered, carefully shuffling the uniforms out of his way, letting his hands feel their way through the contents of the case. His fingers brushed over the bottom and sides, searching for anything.

His finger caught on a knob that should not have been there, and with a slight push the knob moved.

There was a faint click, and Harry slowly pulled the bottom of the case up when he realised what was happening.

There.

A small, red leather book sat innocently under the false bottom.

 _Clever boy._ Harry thought, reaching out and taking the book from its place. There was a faint outline left from the thin layer of dust that had settled in the months it had not been touched.

Harry closed the case and pushed it with his foot so that it was mostly out of the way. 

He made his way back out into the main room, the book already cracked open to the first page.

The writing was smooth and bordered on calligraphy to Harry’s eyes. It was the writing of someone who had been using quills and inkwells since their earliest days. Compared to this, Harry’s handwriting was chicken scratch. 

He quickly glanced around for a place to sit down and begin reading – because just a quick flick through showed that this diary was filled almost to the brim, and would take time to work through.

Harry took a seat at Nathan’s desk, inhaled deeply to gather himself, and went to the first page.

It took him all of two seconds to realise that he may have miscalculated.

The words, while in English and clearly legible, were somehow wrong. The ordering of the letters was incorrect, random capitals appeared where they should not, and from the slating of the writing it looked as if it were written from right to left.

Harry’s eyes became half-lidded in a mix of amusement and frustration.

“You sneaky bastard.” Harry whispered, his appreciation of Nathan’s ingenuity winning over any budding annoyance. “You coded it.”

He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his slim chest, chuckling softly.

Clearly he had underestimated Nathan. Harry did not know many fourteen year old’s that would go to the trouble of actually writing in a bloody code, on top of keeping their journal squirrelled away in a suitcase’s false-bottom.

He was pleasantly surprised.

“Well,” he looked over his shoulder to scan the room once more. “you have to have cheat sheet somewhere.”

Harry had never particularly liked the section of auror training dedicated to decoding ciphers and riddles. He could do it just fine – God knew that after all his childhood adventures he had developed a knack for it – but it still frustrated him.

He enjoyed solving mysteries, he enjoyed piecing together clues, but he lacked the patience it took to sit down and correctly decipher something on this level.

Harry stood and restarted his search, this time looking for Nathan’s cheat sheet – anything that might have been used when the boy created his code.

The sun was sinking by the time he decided to stop. He was fairly certain he had rooted through every inch of the room, and he had found nothing that might help him.

He collapsed back on the bed, scowling at the ceiling.

He had definitely underestimated this kid.

He could see why Nathan had been sorted into Slytherin now. The boy was a sly one, and if he had destroyed the cheat sheet – as Harry was beginning to suspect he had – than the boy deserved the green and silver tie for his cunning.

Harry sighed, rubbing at his eyes. It was so odd not having to mind his glasses for such things anymore. He missed the familiar weight of them on his face, and more than once had caught himself going to reach for his nose to push them up.

He huffed, arms flopping down beside him. He conceded defeat for today. He would have to find another way to decode the diary. There were other places Nathan could have hidden his cheat sheet, after all.

Someone knocked at his door. 

Harry shoved himself up onto his elbows and stared at the wooden doors. It took him a few moments to respond. “It’s open.”

The door swung open, and Harry blinked at Cynthia standing in the doorway. 

The woman’s kind expression twisted oddly as she gazed around the room. Whatever she had been about to say died on her tongue. 

Harry had the decency to wince as he too took in the utter chaos he had unleashed on Nathan’s room. Everything was pulled out and heaped in certain groups, categorised even if it did not look that way to the casual observer.

“I just wished to see how you were settling in.” Cynthia spoke lowly, her voice remarkably controlled despite her turmoil. 

“Sorry,” Harry said, glancing away from her to avoid her gaze. “I’m just trying to understand.”

Her face melted into something soft and loving. “Of course, darling. I cannot begin to know what this must feel like for you.” She entered the room slowly, navigating her way through the mess to perch herself on the edge of the bed next to him.

Her hands were clasped lightly in her lap, but Harry could see how much she wished to reach out and hold him.

He appreciated her restraint.

“You must feel…uncomfortable. All of us acting so familiar with you, when you have absolutely no knowledge of us.”

Harry nodded, because it was true. He _was_ uncomfortable with her, and her family. And while that was partly due to his unfamiliarity with them, it was also due to the fact that he had essentially stolen their child from them.

“I am sorry we did not think on how to ease you into this more gently. We are strangers to you, and you have no choice but to stay here with us…” She took a moment to gather herself. “I just would like you to know that we are here for you. If you need anything – even if it is space from us – you need only ask.”

Harry felt his chest warm at her words. This woman was so loving, and was trying so hard to make things easier for him. True, she believed he was her son, but the sentiment was the same.

He reached out and lay his hand over her folded ones. “Thank you,” he said simply. “I know this isn’t easy for you either. And I’m so sorry that I can’t be who you want me to be.”

Cynthia’s eyes watered and she stared at him with a starved glint in her eyes. “Oh, sweetheart. My precious, darling boy. Just having you here and awake is enough for me right now.” Her hands came up to frame Harry’s face.

“We will get through this. We are a family. I know we will be fine.”

He wished he could share her faith. But until he knew exactly what was happening to him, he was going to remain cautious with everything.

Still, he gave her a stiff smile and looked off to the side. “Actually, there is something I wanted to talk to you about.”

She retracted herself from him and sat with an expectant look on her pretty face. “What is it, Nathan?”

Harry took a breath. “I want to go to Hogwarts.”

Cynthia shook her head immediately, the skin around her mouth tightening. “No. I am sorry, but Nathan, I cannot allow that.”

“Why not?” And the frustration leaking into his voice was only a fraction of what he truly felt.

“It is…dangerous.” Cynthia told him slowly, “You have only just woken up, your body is still processing things, the healers need to run more tests…”

Harry’s fists clenched, and he very carefully kept his teeth clamped shut, lest his tongue get the better of him.

Cynthia sighed from beside him. “Please, Nathan, understand. I only want you to be safe, and with everything going on right now, you returning to Hogwarts would not be best.”

He did not reply, and listened as she shifted herself in discomfort. 

“Nathan? Please.”

Harry narrowed his eyes, staring resolutely at the wall and trying to keep his temper in check. He had to remind himself that Cynthia was only acting as any concerned mother would. She did not know the whole situation, did not know she was talking to a trained auror.

He loosened his fists. “Yeah. Sure.” He told her blandly. 

Cynthia hesitated for a few more moments, one hand hovering uncertainly over his shoulder. She did not touch him though, because the tension radiating off of his form was permeating the air.

Instead, she gathered her skirt, and stood. “Dinner will be ready in an hour, please join us then.”

Without another word, she slipped out of the room, feet carefully stepping through the collage of her son’s life.

The second he heard the soft click of the door closing, Harry collapsed back on the bed, hands rubbing violently at his face.

This was an inconvenience, but he was hardly going to let it stop him from going back to the boarding school. 

He would just have to be patient for a little longer, deal with the Ciro’s presence and whatever tests the healers put him through, then try again.

# OoO

Dinner was a tense affair.

Harry tried to ignore the clear divide between the small family, choosing to focus more on making sure his fork actually made it to his mouth. 

The past few days had definitely helped him grow accustomed to the changes in his body size, and his coordination – while not completely back to normal – was coming along nicely.

He ate slowly, only paying half an ear to the conversation of the other three.

“-and of course Professor Dumbledore thought I had made a very insightful observation-”

Harry swallowed wrong and immediately broke into a coughing fit.

Three heads snapped to him, two sets of eyes concerned, and one brimming with annoyance.

“Nathan!” Benedict moved to stand, but Harry held up a hand to halt the man in his tracks. He coughed several more times before finally clearing his throat and taking an unobstructed breath.

Harry took a large gulp of water, then looked up at the others. “Sorry.” He apologised, and turned to Simon, who was watching him closely in what would appear to be concern to anyone else. Harry saw the disdain in his eyes though, and resisted the childish urge to kick the other from under the table. 

“Dumbledore?” He asked briskly, his mind practically vibrating. _Of course. Dumbledore! How could I have forgotten? He’d be the Transfiguration professor right now._ Harry wanted very much to slap his own forehead at his oversight.

 _“Professor_ Dumbledore.” Simon corrected helpfully, his tone borderline condescending. “He is a teacher at Hogwarts, and a brilliant man.”

“Too right.” Benedict agreed, settling back into his seat now that he saw his child was fine. “Absolutely incredible, and very powerful. Why, with him there, Hogwarts is one of the safest places in Britain or Scotland.”

“Really?” Harry murmured, focus already fading away as the topic turned to Dumbledore and his many achievements. 

_What am I going to do with this? Surely Dumbledore would notice something is wrong the moment he sees me? Should I tell him right away? He might be able to help me figure this out._

Harry took another sip of his water, frowning to himself.

His feelings about Dumbledore were definitely mixed. He respected the former Headmaster, more than anyone, but Harry was still bitter at the man’s time playing God. Finding out your entire life was a carefully orchestrated lie was hard to swallow, and the years had not dulled Harry’s anger at being so spectacularly manipulated.

He would have been content never having anything to do with the man again.

But he could not deny that he needed help here. Dumbledore would be his most likely bet at fixing whatever was going on.

He ate the rest of his meal in silence, only offering brief responses to any questions thrown his way.

Much later, Harry stood in the kitchen by himself, nursing a glass of milk and wishing it were firewhisky. It was well past midnight, and everyone had already gone to bed.

He _should_ be in bed.

But it appeared his insomnia had followed him into this time as well. 

Harry had gotten better at sleeping normally over the years, only driven to this state once every few months, when the memories got particularly heavy. It took a lot to unnerve him enough to affect his sleep these days.

This whole mess had him rattled though, and it was beginning to creep in on him.

He sighed, rubbing at his eyes as he leaned on the counter.

If he were where he was supposed to be, Ginny would be here with him. She would not say anything, just sit with him, holding his hand. 

She always knew what he needed, even before Harry himself did.

 _Merlin,_ he missed her. It had only been a handful of days, but he ached for her.

He finished his glass in one long drag and placed the empty cup on the counter. 

There was a quiet snap from beside him, and Harry looked down to see a house-elf staring up at him with wide blue eyes. 

“Y-young Master Nathan!” She squeaked, shrinking away from him in surprise. Harry blinked, studying the tiny creature as she stood there, shuffling her feet awkwardly.

Finally, he gave her a small smile. “Hello,” he greeted, his soft spot for her kind rising swiftly. “sorry for startling you.”

Her big eyes grew even bigger, amazement overtaking her wrinkled face. “N-nonsense, sir. Giffy is sorry for intruding.”

Harry shrugged, his smile widening. He shifted so he was facing her fully. “It’s alright. You probably weren’t expecting anyone to be up this late anyway. It’s nice to meet you, Giffy.”

Her expression quickly whirred through a number of emotions, from confusion to sorrow, before settling on understanding. She ducked her head bashfully, and slipped into a practised curtsy. “Giffy is pleased to meet you, Young Master.”

Harry looked at her curiously. “Can I ask what you’re doing? It’s really late.”

Giffy’s face once again shown with astonishment, “Young Master does not need to ask.” She told him, and Harry realised she was probably confused by his attitude. Most house-elves were used to being ordered around, rather than treated nicely.

Kreature’s face flashed through his mind, followed immediately by Dobby’s.

“It’s the polite thing to do.” He told her, and carried on before she could once again express her wonder. “What were you doing?”

“Oh,” Giffy glanced down at her feet, only to peek up at him sweetly. “the Master and Mistress wished for Giffy to fetch them refreshments.”

“They're awake?” Harry asked, frowning lightly.

Giffy nodded eagerly, “Yes, Young Master. In the sitting room. They are discussing-” She cut herself off, biting her lip and hunching her shoulders defensively.

Harry’s attention was caught. “What are they discussing, Giffy?” He asked as kindly as he could. He made sure to keep his expression open and friendly, not wanting to scare her off. He doubted the Ciro’s had explicitly ordered Giffy to keep their topic a secret, and familial loyalty compelled her to answer his questions as well.

Giffy shifted uncomfortably, “They are talking about you, sir.” She whispered to him, as if afraid Benedict and Cynthia would hear her and appear. 

Harry smiled encouragingly at her, “Oh, well that’s not really surprising, is it?” He asked her, “Thank you, Giffy. You go do what they asked.” She nodded, face tentatively smiling up at him as she snapped her fingers and two glasses and a tray zoomed towards her.

Harry waited until she had vanished before dropping his smile and going for the door.

He headed directly for the sitting room, measuring his steps and treading silently when he approached the double doors. Underneath he could see the slip of light, and the mumble of voices.

With a simple wave of his hand, his hearing sharpened.

_“-handle this?”_

_“As we always do, Cynthia. He is our son.”_

_“Is he?”_

Harry’s heart lurched at the sharpness in Cynthia’s tone. She was always so kindly, that hearing the harshness in her words was off-putting. But above that was the sudden prickling of fear in his chest. 

Did they suspect him? Did they know he was not, and never had been their son?

 _“Cynthia…”_ There was very real heartache in Benedict’s voice. _“You know the answer to that.”_

She sighed, loudly. _“Y-yes. I know. I_ know. _It just becomes so hard sometimes. I love Nathan, I truly do. He_ is _my son, but…I just…”_

 _“I know.”_ Benedict murmured, almost too softly for Harry to hear. _“You are the most wonderful mother, to both of them. And an even more generous wife, my dear. Things will get better.”_

_“I want my son back. I want Nathan to remember. I feel like I am talking to a complete stranger and I hate that he does not recognise us.”_

_“I want that too,”_ Benedict assured her, _“but it is not that simple. We_ are _strangers to him. We must be patient. As hard as this is for us, it is even worse for him. We must remember that.”_

_“Yes. I know. Forgive me for acting so rashly. I merely want Nathan to be safe. After what happened to him-”_

_“We will find out who hurt him, I swear it to you. The aurors are following any lead they can.”_

_“It has been three months. If there was something to find, they would have it already.”_ There was defeat written in her words.

 _“Stay strong, my dear. We_ will _get justice for Nathan.”_

Harry cancelled the spell when the two dissolved into silence. He backed away from the room swiftly, making for the stairs to the next level.

His mind was humming with the snippets of information he had gleaned from their brief conversation. 

Clearly, there was more involved with the Ciro’s than he had thought – something that Harry was not seeing. The way they spoke about Nathan, the way _Cynthia_ did, it was curious.

But one thing he was sure of, despite the questions he had, was that Benedict and Cynthia Ciro were some of the most kind-hearted individuals he had stumbled across.

Their genuine love for Nathan made Harry’s jaded self soften slightly.

He scaled the steps and headed for the bedroom, passing Simon’s on his way.

Harry stared at the dark doors bitterly, remembering one topic that had sprung up at the dinner table.

Tomorrow, Simon would be returning to Hogwarts.

And Harry would remain here, waiting impatiently until he could somehow talk his way into joining Nathan’s prick of a twin.

He could hardly wait.

# OoO

“Hey, Ciro!” Simon looked up at the call, his scowl lightening when he noted who was speaking.

“Black,” he greeted politely, his eyes sliding beyond the third year to land on the slightly larger form behind him. “Lestrange.” The intimidating fourth year merely nodded at him.

Orion Black stepped up to him, well into his personal space, and clapped a hand on his upper arm in camaraderie. Simon stiffly let the younger boy do as he pleased. While their age difference might normally give Simon an advantage, the name hanging over Orion was more than enough to level the playing field between them.

And with Lestrange looming at his shoulder like some form of bodyguard, Simon had little choice in the matter.

“How are you?” Orion asked kindly, grey eyes sparkling up at him. 

“I am well. You?”

The younger boy brushed off the question with a dainty wave of his hand. “Fine, fine. Tell me, is it true?”

Simon’s jaw clenched, already knowing just what Orion was asking after. “Is what true?”

“Your brother, silly.” Orion shoved him lightly, “Word is he is up and walking.”

“Yes.” Simon answered mechanically. “Nathan’s awake.”

Orion smiled up at him, the expression holding too many teeth. “How fortuitous.” He commented, and the glint in his eyes was not dissimilar to a predator staring at his prey. Simon both hated and admired the younger boy for being so bloody _dangerous._

“We’ve all be so terribly worried about him, haven’t we, Gus?”

Augustus Lestrange said nothing, but Orion continued speaking without even glancing at his companion. “Any word on how he is?” The knowing expression on the other boy’s face let Simon know that somehow – likely familial connections, seeing as he was a Black – Orion was already well aware of Nathan’s _condition._

Simon shrugged. “Unfortunately, it appears my dear brother has lost all his memories.”

Orion gasped, so perfectly timed and executed that if Simon did not know any better, he would have thought it real. “How terrible! He truly remembers nothing?”

“Not even my name.”

Orion and Augustus shared a look, and Simon shifted his gaze away from the two just slightly. 

His relationship with Nathan was – _complicated._ But he knew that his brother’s life at Hogwarts was hellish.

When they had first been sorted – him in Ravenclaw, Nathan in Slytherin – it had been fine. They were still able to see each other regularly, and both were quite content with the friends they had managed to make.

They had shared everything up until that point, so it was nice for them to finally be seen as separate people.

Simon and Nathan were so close.

But then, _that_ had happened, and Simon could not even look at Nathan anymore. As far as he was concerned, the entire fallout was Nathan’s own fault.

He _deserved_ all of it. All the snide comments, all the cruel taunting. It was all on Nathan.

“Absolutely terrible.” Orion said, stepping away from him. “Is he coming back anytime soon?”

Simon shrugged again. “It has not been decided. I imagine, at some point, yes.”

He hoped he was wrong. Even at the bottom of the social hierarchy, Nathan had the uncanny ability to gain attention. Simon just wished his brother would _go_ and _stay gone._ None of this awakening with a new personality business.

He preferred Nathan as a spineless, pathetic weakling, when he had to bother with him at all. Not someone with fire in his eyes and body braced as if ready to take on the world.

Orion made a noise in the back of his throat. “I see. Well, sorry to keep you so long. I’ll see you later.”

Simon nodded and walked away, keeping his posture as straight as he could.

Once he had rounded the corner, Orion turned to Augustus, eyebrows raised. “Did you see it?”

“He’s unsettled.” Augustus said quietly.

The two walked together back in the direction of the dungeon. 

“More than that, he looked _pissed.”_ Orion chuckled happily. “He’s so easy to read. Like a little book.”

Augustus glanced down at him, sharp amusement in his dark eyes. “What do you think? About Ciro being awake?”

Orion smiled wider, his eyes narrowing. “I’m excited. It’s been a while since anything interesting has happened. Ciro was always so much fun to watch. I miss the easy entertainment.”

Augustus hummed in agreement. “He was too soft.”

Orion reached out and grabbed the other’s hand, swinging it childishly between them as they walked. 

“The older years will be positively ecstatic, though. Their favourite toy is alive and kicking. Well,” he looked up at the roof, a finger on his chin. “alive might be more accurate. Ciro hardly ever fought back. He certainly never kicked anyone.”

Augustus rolled his eyes, walking faster and tugging gently at the younger boy, urging him to hurry up. “Come on, you are too slow.”

“You bastard!” Orion exclaimed brightly, “It’s not my fault your legs are abnormally long!”

“You’re just short.” Augustus shot back.

“Pfft, whatever Gus.” The boy’s grey eyes glinted. “Oh, did you get that book Tom wanted, as well?”

“Of course.” The other said smoothly.

“I don’t even know why he wants such a droll thing. He usually reads much more interesting texts.” Orion said, head falling back as Augustus guided him through the hallways.

“Just because you find genealogy boring, does not mean that everyone does.”

Orion laughed, “Come on, Gus. _Tom,_ reading about ancient family lines? It’s weird. He’s never expressed an interest in our family histories before. Admit it, it’s odd.”

“Riddle’s always been a bit odd.”

“Well, that is true,” Orion said with a smirk. “but my point remains. He’s up to something.”

“Riddle’s _always_ up to something, Orion.”

Orion rolled his eyes, but said nothing to refute the other. If there was ever an accurate description of Tom, it would be that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? Feelings? Lemme know guys!


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the wait lovelies, enjoy~

Harry slowed to a light jog as he approached the manor’s back entrance, huffing as he opened the door and slipped inside, relishing the warm air that wrapped around him.

He trekked to the kitchen and got himself some water, drinking it slowly as his eyes lazily trailed over the impeccable tiles and polished utensils. 

He wiped his mouth when he was done and quickly washed out the cup with a touch of soap, then placed it in the tray to dry. He dried his hands on his pants and leaned against the counter, head tilting back as he regained his breath.

It had been over a week since Simon had disappeared back to Hogwarts, and Harry would be lying if he said he missed the other boy. 

He would prefer it if he were completely alone.

Both Cynthia and Benedict had hovered near him for the first few days, acting as if he would vanish if they turned their back for more than a second. Harry could sympathise with their fears, but he had made it as obvious as he could without explicitly _saying_ the words, that he did not need them constantly near him.

And sure, if he was actually an amnesic fourteen year old he might actually crave the attention. He might seek them out, might try and connect with them.

But this was not his family, this was not his life, and Harry would much rather be left alone to plan than accidentally grow attached to these people. 

He knew himself. He knew he had a bit of a weakness for helping people. Well – more than a ‘bit’. His friends were always ready to chew him out for jumping head first into danger if he thought it could possibly help someone else.

But that was why he was being so careful to keep a firm distance from the Ciro’s. Once he got invested in someone he would stay until he was sure they were okay; and no matter how much he wanted to give them their son back, Harry was more desperate to get _home._

Home to Ginny. Home to Ron and Hermione, and the Weasley’s. Home to his friends and his job and his _really nice life._

He thought about the ring sitting in his desk at the department, and all those silly romantic plans he had been making. He thought about Angela’s swelling middle and the fact that Ron and Hermione’s wedding was in a few months.

He really had to get to Hogwarts so he could start trying to get back. The longer he was here, the more chance of him getting caught up in these people’s lives; which would be a disaster for everyone involved.

The only good thing to happen to him recently was the physical therapy, and what it had done for his coordination. He was finally in control of his limbs.

The day of Simon’s departure, Harry had once again been whisked to St. Mungo’s to see Healer Johnson. The man had all but given him a trunk of potions, along with lengthy instructions on how to take them.

Harry had nodded along dumbly, pretending that he was not already intimately acquainted with nearly all of them from his tendency to land himself in the hospital. 

The healer had also given him a schedule of easy exercises to stick to, to help get his body back in balance and put on a little more weight.

The exercises were pathetically easy to do, and Harry quickly found his body’s current limits and decided to make his own routine – with a few _adjustments._

Cynthia and Benedict were happy to let him do his therapy by himself, and as such had no clue that Harry was following his own instructions instead.

If Hermione were here she would probably whack him for disregarding the healer’s orders, but Harry needed this body to be in a better condition than just _healthy._ He needed to be stronger, faster. He needed to be as prepared as he could for the future, because he literally had _no clue_ what was awaiting him.

He was used to operating with a lot more mass, and as such, was determined to bring Nathan’s body from average to damn-bloody-fit.

And who knew, once he got back to his own time and Nathan got his own body back – _hopefully, please God don’t let the kid be gone forever_ – he might be pleasantly surprised at his new physique. 

With his run finished, Harry started into the sitting room, knowing it would be empty at this time.

He took a deep breath, then dropped to start some push-ups. His record in this body was twenty-one, which, considering Nathan was a scrawny-arse little thing before Harry took the reins, was pretty good.

He was looking to get to at least thirty-five in the next two weeks. With the help of the potions, as well as the planned diet he was on, Harry knew he was going to be able to do it.

Johnson had specifically designed his diet to help him put on weight, and Nathan was a growing boy smack in the middle of puberty, his body stretching and in the perfect condition to start getting a bit of muscles.

Harry was just doing all he could to help the process along.

He blasted his way through the first fifteen, arms beginning to tremble when he hit eighteen. He clenched his teeth and pushed more, stubbornness giving him the extra boost he needed to get to twenty-two.

Harry painstakingly lowered himself into a resting pose, breathing deep and slow.

It was…frustrating. Being confined in such a weak body. Having to work so hard to even get a hint of his former strength back.

The only thing he had other than his mind was his magic – and _that_ was both a welcome relief and an unbelievable annoyance.

It was comforting that his magic – his _proper, powerful, familiar_ magic – had tagged along with him. But at the same time it was a terrible, terrible thing, because they _knew_ about it.

He remembered the look on Johnson’s face when he had told Cynthia and Benedict.

_“Lord and Lady Ciro, Nathan,” Johnson greeted them, mouth twisted in a strained smile. His fingers tapped anxiously on the clipboard he held between it between them like a barrier._

_Harry frowned lightly at the defensive stance, eyes roaming over the clearly uncomfortable man. He caught sight of the light perspiration on his forehead, and titled his head curiously. Just what was so bad about his tests that could cause such an obvious reaction in the typically unflappable healer?_

_“Healer Johnson,” Benedict nodded, one large hand balanced on Harry’s shoulder in some effort to support him. Harry wanted to roll his back pointedly to dislodge the man’s grip, but thought that might be a step too far. “what can you tell us?”_

_“Yes,” Cynthia injected, “are the potions ready for Nathan?”_

_Johnson’s smiled twitched. “Why yes, the potions will be ready for you this afternoon to pick up.”_

_“Then why have you asked us here so early?”_

_Again, Johnson’s fingers beat against the clipboard, almost frantically. The man licked his lips. “There were some…odd findings in our last tests for Nathan. The results are…well, I believed it would be better to reveal them to you now, rather than later.”_

_Benedict’s grip on him tightened, and Harry pursed his lips in annoyance at the hold. “What is it?” He asked, and Johnson’s eyes, when they meet his, were a weird mix of fascinated and confused._

_“It’s to do with your magic, Nathan.”_

_Harry tensed, body swaying forward. “What’s wrong with it?”_

_He had not felt anything odd about his magic. It worked the same as it always had, roiling under his skin, a constant companion, reassuring in its presence._

_Harry’s heart pounded. What if there was something wrong with it that he just had not noticed? What if his magic was off? He had never had something actually happen to his magical core before. He knew there were curses that attacked your core, he knew how dangerous those were. But surely he would have_ felt something _by this point?_

_“There is nothing – specifically wrong with it. It’s just -”_

_Tired of this avoidance, Harry held out his hand for the board. Johnson started to hand it over immediately, simply reacting, before he caught himself and handed it to Benedict instead. Harry wanted to snarl at the blatant mollycoddling._

_His swiftly raising anger dwindled when he saw how tense Benedict had grown. “What does this mean?” The man asked, passing the clipboard to Cynthia. Harry tracked the object, barely repressing the desire to reach out and snap it from their hands._

_This was about_ him. _Surely he, out of all of them, deserved to see it?_

_Cynthia was frowning as she read the findings. She lowered the clipboard, attention fully focussed on Johnson. “This makes no sense.” She declared._

_Johnson rubbed his hands anxiously. “We have no idea how this has happened. It’s…unprecedented.”_

_Harry gently tugged the clipboard out of Cynthia’s grasp and looked over the page, eyes hungry for whatever was causing their reactions._

_“But…how can he have_ more magic?” __

_Harry glanced up, having just read the note as they spoke._

_It was curious. More magic? He felt no different, but he supposed that was because it was_ his. _It made sense, in some weird way, that his magic had somehow come along with him on this dubious trip through time._

_Harry, as he was, had quite a well-developed magical core. Even as a child he had been stronger than most of his peers, he just lacked the patience to truly apply himself to it. Fighting in the war, and his training as an auror had definitely helped him improve his control._

_He was one of the strongest wizards in Britain – even though he never really tossed that knowledge around._

_If all his magic was with him now – which he suspected was true – than he could understand why everyone was so confused and anxious._

_A fourteen year old should not have the level of magic Harry did. Hell, even if he had been an average adult wizard, it_ still _would have been too much magic for a fourteen year old._

 _They probably thought something was very wrong with him, to have registered_ this _high._

_Johnson shrugged, helplessly._

_Harry carefully schooled his expression into something confused and a little scared when they all turned to look at him. “Am I okay though?” He asked, pushing a slight waver into his voice._

_Cynthia and Benedict melted at his act, and Johnson watched him with budding compassion in his eyes. “Yes, we have observed no negative reactions from this…increase in your magic. Tell me, Nathan, have you tried any spells since you woke up? Have you experienced any discomfort or strangeness when trying to cast something?”_

_Did wandless magic count, he wondered in exasperated amusement. “No, I don’t even have a wand.”_

_Fourteen year old’s could rarely preform intentional wandless magic. And admitting to having done so would likely just make them even more suspicious of him._

_Johnson turned to the Ciro’s, “Perhaps it is best that Nathan begin using his magic again. The sooner he grows accustom to his new level of power, the better for him it will be.”_

Harry sighed as he pushed himself to his feet, rubbing at his face. The trip home from that appointment had been uncomfortable. Having to act surprised at his own power was more taxing than he would have thought.

A positive though was the discussion of getting him a new wand. Seeing as Nathan’s original had been stolen during his attack, and the culprits had not been found, Harry had managed to convince the Ciro’s to get a new one.

Which meant sooner or later he would be allowed out of the manor’s grounds and into the world. He could hardly wait.

“Oh. Nathan.”

Harry turned to see Benedict hovering by the sitting room door. He was getting better and better at responding to the name, no matter how uncomfortable it made him feel. He still slipped occasionally, but he was improving his response time.

“Hi.” He said, rotating so he was fully facing the older man. His hands rested on his hips and he watched Benedict watch him. “Is something wrong?”

“No, no. I just, was not expecting you. Here.”

“Did you want me to go?”

“No, in fact, I was wondering if we could talk?”

Harry shrugged, claiming a seat to the right. Benedict sat himself directly across from him, hands clasped and brow furrowed. 

“What’s up?” Harry asked, when the silence between them stretched on.

Benedict shot him a strange look, only to shake his head and speak. “Your mother and I were talking, and we were considering heading to Diagon Alley this afternoon to purchase a new wand for you. If you are feeling up to it.” He added slowly, cautiously.

Harry battled with the urge to grin, settling for a nod. “Sounds good. I’ll just go get changed.”

“Of course,” Benedict gave him a smile, though like always there were traces of sorrow clinging to it. “we will leave when you are ready.”

Harry darted out of the room, letting his lips curl upwards as he headed to get some new clothes. He stripped and changed, and in record time was standing in the foyer waiting for the Ciro’s to appear.

Cynthia tutted at him when she saw him, carefully reaching out and smoothing over his hair when he did not flinch at her approach. Harry dealt with the mothering, knowing that he tended to neglect brushing his hair. He was just so used to having a wild mess that brushing was not a big priority. 

Unfortunately, he now had to deal with wisps of hair that _needed_ maintenance. It was such a hassle. 

“Alright,” Cynthia said as she stepped back, apparently satisfied with his appearance. “have you got your coat? It is quite cool today.”

Harry wanted to tell her he had already been running outside earlier, and obviously knew it was cold, but he bit his tongue and grabbed the closest outer cloak; slipping it on with a disgruntled expression.

“Perfect. Benedict, dear, are you ready?”

Harry ducked his head to hide his eye roll, opening the door and escaping the warmth of the house, leaving the couple to trail after him.

# OoO

Diagon Alley was dead. 

Well. Not dead, but compared to the alley he remembered in his time, this was as lively as a corpse. People shuffled to and from with hurried steps, eye darting and a sombre air encompassing the area.

Harry glanced around, frowning. “Why is it so deserted?” He asked quietly, and the Ciro’s looked down at him in astonishment that quickly morphed to understanding.

“Oh, how foolish of us.” Cynthia muttered, stopping him and placing her hands on his arms. “There is a muggle war going on at the moment, Nathan. A very dangerous, very large-scale war. While our kind are not directly involved, it is hard to escape the atmosphere.”

Harry blinked, and immediately felt like a complete idiot. It was _1942._ Right in the middle of the _Second World War._ God, he was so _stupid._

Of course Diagon Alley was depressingly sparse. The Blitz would still be fresh in everyone’s minds.

This was right around the time the Wizarding World started cluing in to how deadly muggle weaponry could truly be. The First World War was devastating, but the years between that and this one would have slightly dulled magical peoples’ fear. 

Now it was fresh, and suffocating.

Harry rubbed at his forehead, sighing heavily. He knew the war would end in 1945, at least. Dumbledore defeating Grindelwald was a huge step in ending the hostilities. 

Two more years of war. Which meant, most likely, the entire time he was trapped here, he would be surrounded by the same horror and tragedy he thought he had finally escaped.

He let himself be hustled along by the Ciro’s, both of whom looked uneasy at being in such an open space.

Harry stepped up into Ollivander’s, instantly being reminded of the first time he had entered the store. Some of the tension in his shoulders loosened when he took in the stacks upon stacks of boxes – all containing wands.

He cast his gaze around for the man himself, suddenly eager to see a familiar face – no matter that he had no idea who Harry was right now.

“Mr. Ollivander?”

Much like the first time, Ollivander seemingly appeared out of nowhere, eyes wide and glassy. Harry bit back a grin at the sight of the odd wizard.

“Ah, Lord and Lady Ciro, and young Nathan. Welcome.” Ollivander’s eyes skimmed over them, lingering on Harry with curiosity. Harry wondered if the man could sense something was different about him. His breath quickened a little at the thought, though whether it was nervousness or excitement, he did not know.

“Mr. Ollivander,” Benedict started, “we are here looking to purchase another wand for Nathan. His previous one was – lost.”

Ollivander stared at the wall behind Benedict, frowning lightly. “Indeed?” Was all he murmured, before his attention was drifting back to Harry. The wandmaker studied him, some of the fog in his eyes receding.

Being under the man’s scrutiny was uncomfortable, but Harry had faced worse. He stared back, never one to hide.

A smile broke across Ollivander’s face, warm and approving. “Very well,” he said, “step forward and we shall begin.”

Harry opened his mouth to just tell him his wand – but the words caught in his throat. He absently allowed the man to start taking whatever measurements he needed.

Would his wand even recognise him? The main reason Ollivander had even given him that wand in the beginning was because of his history with Voldemort. But Voldemort did not exist yet, so there was no way Ollivander would try it unless by accident.

Harry bit the inside of his bottom lip as he thought. Was it worth the suspicion? Cynthia and Benedict were already so cautious around him, could he risk drawing more attention by outright asking for his wand?

No, he decided swiftly. He did not plan to be here too long. Any wand would work for what he had to do, and this way, the chances of him messing too much with the past were limited. Because if his holly wand went with Nathan Ciro in 1942, would it even be there for Harry in 1991?

He could not risk it.

So he stood there and endured the whirlwind experience of trying wand after wand again.

It brought back fond memories, and Harry had to smother a snicker more than once at the alarmed expressions on the Ciro’s faces, and the maniac glee on Ollivander’s as another wand was torn from his hand.

Finally, a dark, polished wand was slapped into his palm. Harry curled his fingers around it, closing his eyes at the rush of warmth that spread through him. It was not quite the same as his first wand, but the connection was still lovely.

Ollivander made an intrigued noise, drawing Harry’s focus back to him. “How curious.”

The words filled him with foreboding. Harry looked down at the wand suspiciously, silently wondering if his was the brother wand of Grindelwald, since that seemed to be a trend of his.

“What’s curious?” He asked anyway, because he was like a dog with a bone.

Ollivander smiled at him, though it was subdued and more _knowing._ Harry stopped breathing.

“This wand is made of ebony, with a dragon heartstring. Thirteen and a half inches, unyielding.” The wandmaker reclaimed the chosen wand and slipped it into its box. “So at odds with your original wand, Mr. Ciro.” His gaze seemed more piercing suddenly. “It would appear you have changed quite a bit from our last meeting.”

Harry quietly accepted the box as it was handed to him, studying Ollivander quizzically. Questions danced along the tip of his tongue, to ask if he knew that Harry did not belong in this body, in this time. If he knew what was happening to him.

But Benedict was already handing over the money, and Cynthia had guided him outside. 

“Merlin, that man is unnerving.” Benedict muttered, an arm coming up to wrap around Cynthia and tug her into his side. “Come along, we should return home now, and Nathan, you should try a few spells once we get there.”

Harry nodded, fingers tracing the box with interest. He tried to dredge up what little he knew of wandlore.

He knew dragon heartstring was typically the most powerful core, and he was pretty sure ebony wood had something to do with combative magic. 

He opened the box and stared down at the polished wand, intrigued to see just what it could do. He was a damn good duellist, and excelled at combative magic. With the backing of a dragon heartstring core, it was sure to be interesting.

He tucked it securely in his pocket and accepted Cynthia’s arm so she could apparate them back to the manor.

Later that afternoon, after Harry had proven to both of them that he had control over his magic, Harry approached Benedict’s office. He had never been in it before, and knocked carefully. When he heard the man’s call he opened the door and entered.

“Hey.” Harry shifted his feet as he waited for Benedict to look at him. The man signed one last document before giving him his full attention. 

“What is it son?” The man asked kindly, gesturing for Harry to take a seat. His office was quite splendid, and Harry took a moment to simply soak in the richness of the space.

“I was just wondering if I could run something by you. It’s kind of been on my mind for a while.”

Benedict nodded encouragingly, and Harry knew this was probably the first time he had actively sought the man out for something. 

He bit his lip, debating whether to just jump in and ask, or work his way up to it.

 _Oh screw it,_ he thought, _I’ve never had any tact anyway._

“I want to go back to Hogwarts.” He announced plainly. As soon as he asked, Benedict’s face contorted and he leaned back into his plush chair. “Before you tell me ‘no’, let me explain.” He carried on before the other could so much as open his mouth.

“I’ve been thinking, since I was eleven, I would have spent a majority of my time at Hogwarts. Months and months of my life have past _there._ It’s probably the place I’m most comfortable at. Other than here.” He added a moment later when he realised how that might have sounded.

“Hogwarts is like a home away from home, and I’ve been here for a while now and I’ve remembered _nothing.”_ He ducked his head, peeking up at the larger man from under his fringe. “I just figured that if there was anywhere else that might be as likely to jog my memories, it would be Hogwarts, right?”

Benedict was frowning, but he had not rejected the idea, which Harry counted as a win. 

“You believe going back to Hogwarts could help you recover your memories?”

Harry shrugged, expertly hiding just how desperate he was for Benedict to agree with him. “I think it’s a pretty good option.”

Benedict stroked his chin thoughtfully, and Harry waited impatiently for him to say something.

“What about the workload, your schoolwork? You have missed a good amount of classes. You will be months behind your classmates. And the stress could be too much for you.”

Harry allowed a brief scowl to cross his face, before smoothing it over. “I’m sure there are ways to catch me up. I’m a fast learner.” He assured him, because he really was, when properly motivated. “And just because I don’t have any – significant memories, doesn’t mean I don’t know how to do homework.”

He was wavering, Harry could see it. “I just thought that going to school, being around people who are my…friends,” he said hesitantly, because he was already sure Nathan had _no_ friends, “and doing something as repetitive as assignments might trigger a memory or something.”

Benedict sighed and looked off to the side, conflicted.

Harry clenched his fists, and went in for the kill.

“Dad, please.”

The shock and bubbling joy on Benedict’s face was gut-wrenching. Harry felt the world’s biggest arsehole for using such a glaring weakness against the grieving man. He was definitely going to hell when his time came.

Benedict quickly covered his reaction, though his face had softened and his eyes were glowing with warmth. It was the first time Harry had ever addressed him as such. “Very well, Nathan. I will speak with Cynthia about getting you back into Hogwarts. If you truly believe it might help you, then I trust you.”

Harry smiled at the man, grateful beyond belief. “Thank you.” He stressed, pushing himself to his feet and moving to the door. “I really appreciate it, thank you.” He repeated.

He slipped out of the office and promptly collapsed on the door with an explosive sigh.

 _Finally!_ He thought with relish. He could return to Hogwarts and start figuring his way out of this mess. 

With a spring in his step he headed back to his room to pack. He had no idea how long it would take Benedict to tell Cynthia, and then organise everything, but God he could not wait to go home.

# OoO

Harry fiddled with the silver and green tie, finger wrapping around and around it, the smooth material gliding over his skin easily.

“Are you absolutely sure?” Cynthia asked for the hundredth time. Harry nodded without glancing at her, mind too occupied with plans and ideas to get into the library at the first opportunity. 

“Nathan, you know you do not have to do this. You can wait another year, until you are ready.”

“I’m fine.” He told her neutrally, eyes sliding over to where Benedict stood speaking lowly with Armando Dippet, the current Headmaster of Hogwarts, and Professor Slughorn. It had been a shock to see the Potions’ professor again, though why he had no clue.

Maybe because he seemed so bloody young. There was none of the guilt and fear clinging to Slughorn right now. He was bright-eyed and eager, with a jovial sort of air about him despite the serious conversation occurring between them.

Harry ran his hand through his hair, attempting not to glower when Cynthia immediately set about fixing it. He wanted to bat her hands away, and a part of him was so very glad he was going to be able to get away from her in a matter of minutes.

It was a horrible thought, but she was an overwhelming force of affection and Harry had never been particularly good at accepting people touching him unless he was utterly comfortable with them.

He kicked his legs back and forth, chewing on the tip of his thumb as he watched the three men talk and talk.

Cynthia gently tugged his hand away from his mouth, scolding him with a look.

 _God woman, just_ stop.

“Nathan, Cynthia.”

Harry’s neck snapped up to see the three of them staring at him. Benedict waved them over, and Harry detangled himself from Cynthia and hurried to them.

“Mr. Ciro, it’s good to see you.” Dippet said in a voice that suggested he had no idea who Nathan had been before any of this happened. It was distant and polite. Nothing at all like Dumbledore’s warmth.

“Thank you, sir.” He said respectfully, though he really had no knowledge of how good a headmaster this man had been. “It’s good to be back.”

Dippet smiled blandly at him, and Slughorn breezed forward to shake Harry’s hand much more enthusiastically. “Welcome back Nathan, welcome back. I dare say, Slytherin hasn’t been the same in your absence.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, wondering if Nathan had even been interesting enough to register on Slughorn’s radar. He somehow doubted it. From what he had already gathered, Nathan was just slightly above average in his schoolwork. 

Slughorn preferred _gems._

“I’m sure.” He said, tugging his hand free from the sweaty grip and looking up at Nathan’s parents.

Benedict clapped him on the shoulder, and Cynthia – with tears in her eyes – hugged him tight enough to leave bruises. 

Harry tolerated the hug for its entirety to make up for his short attitude with the woman the past few days. 

Her soft hands rested on his neck, half-cupping his jawline. “If it ever grows too much, or if anything happens and you want to come home, all you have to do is ask, sweetheart.”

“I know, thank you.” Harry patted her wrists comfortingly. 

It took Benedict and Dippet both to pry the woman from him and out of the room. Harry huffed in relief the moment the door closed, turning to Slughorn for instruction. While he knew the location of the Slytherin common room, he did not know the password.

His new head of house beamed down at him, hand in between his shoulder blades as he began guiding him from the office. 

“Now Nathan, I know it’s been quite a trying time for you, but I want you to know that we are going to do all we can to bring you back to your previous level. It’ll be like you never left!” He chuckled heartily, moustache jiggling with his lip.

“Everyone was so worried when we heard about your accident. Slytherin is many things, and a family is one of them. We have to stick together, you know?”

Harry hummed and hawed at appropriate times as Slughorn rambled on, having learnt from his time as the man’s crowning jewel on how to handle him.

He was more interested in the looks he was receiving from the passing students. Many gazed on with shock, eyes wide and disbelieving.

Others stared at him blankly, like he was the most insignificant speck they had ever seen.

Most, though, were glaring.

Harry met each and every gaze with curiosity, wondering just what Nathan had done to warrant such intense reactions. It reminded him starkly of his own fourth year.

The irony was not lost on him.

Slughorn lead him directly to the dungeons, and stopped him in front of the section of the stone wall that lead into the common room. “Each week our house will change the password, so make sure to stay on top of that. If you miss it, or forget, just ask someone else and they will let you in. Here, you try.”

The professor handed him a slip of paper.

“Moonseed.” He intoned blankly, watching as the stone wall cracked open and revealed the Slytherin common room.

Every eye in the room moved to them, and Harry very much felt the urge to shiver at how hungry they all looked.

 _Oh, this is going to be a blast._ He thought as Slughorn ushered him inside. 

The silence was hostile.

Harry hardly listened as Slughorn gave his short speech, telling them about his current condition, asking for support and guidance from the other students in helping him find his feet.

“Of course, Professor Slughorn.” A student said, stepping forward with a kind smile. He was older than him, probably a sixth or seventh year. He had the same glint in his eyes that Dudley used to have, and Harry wanted to groan.

“We will take good care of him.”

“Excellent!” Slughorn clapped him on the back, and Harry grunted at the force of it as he stumbled. He scowled at the ground, jaw clenched when he caught a few sniggers from the observers. “Hear that, Mr. Ciro. If you have any trouble, just come to Mr. Carrow here. He’ll watch out for you.”

_Carrow? Fuck me._

“Sure.” He said, scanning Carrow intently. It was easy to categorise him. 

In fact, Harry was going to go out on a limb here and just denote everyone to _enemy._

He watched quietly as Slughorn nodded, confident in his decision, and then waddled out of the common room. The door closed, and instantly the air felt several degrees colder.

An arm slithered around his shoulders, and he was harshly dragged into someone’s side, pinned in a vice like grip. Carrow smiled down at him with too many teeth.

“Welcome back, _Nat._ So glad you returned.” Another boy boxed him in on his other side.

Harry dropped his head and closed his eyes for a second, reining in the buzzing in his chest. It was the exact same rush he always got before a fight.

He clenched his fists, and took a deep breath before returning his gaze to the two boys. He cocked his head slightly.

_Bring it on, kids._


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry for the wait! Loved hearing your response to the last chapter, and hope this one doesn't disappoint. 
> 
> Just letting you know I'm getting into assessment time right now, so it might be a bit before my next update. I honestly don't really know. I might get time, I might not - really sorry guys! But I figured I'd get you one last chapter before I really knuckle down.

Harry took all of two seconds to contemplate how to handle this.

He supposed he _could_ just play along with this. Act like the meek little boy he knew Nathan was while he went about his business. The first couple of weeks would be difficult as he got used to it, but he had been on undercover missions before.

He knew how to lie to someone’s face, he knew how to slip into a role and become someone else.

It would certainly make things easier. Once all the hype and interest surrounding his return had died down – provided he bent his neck to these people, gave them what they wanted – then they were less likely to pay close attention to him as time moved forward.

He almost snorted. 

_Yeah, that’s not gonna work._

Harry knew he would be able to pull it off, knew he could play the part for however long he needed to. Unfortunately, he also wanted to avoid putting himself under any unnecessary pressure while he was stuck here.

Having to check his every move, every word, carefully monitor every bloody reaction would just agitate him until he snapped in a _spectacular_ fashion.

It was better to just draw the line in the sand here and now. To make it abundantly clear he was not to be crossed.

Decision made, Harry stared up at the now-three older students towering over him, eyes narrowing. He _really_ did not want to resort to violence. These kids might be vindictive, cruel little bastards, but they were still children; and Harry had little desire to start tossing them about until their egos were sufficiently beaten into submission.

That being said, he _would_ retaliate – with force if need be – to whatever they tried. He had never been one to take an attack lying down, and bullies just made his skin prickle.

“Thanks, it’s good to be back.” He finally replied to Carrow’s words. Harry slowly rolled his shoulders, testing how tight the grip on him was. He focussed on the fingers, on how they dug into his upper arm, and was pleased to find it was nothing he could not get out of.

Satisfied, he returned his full attention to his would-be bullies, content to wait and watch for their next move.

“Oh, isn’t he cute?” Carrow cooed, vicious in his glee.

“The cutest.” One of the others agreed.

“It just has not been the same without you, _Nat.”_ The third said, sounding welcoming much in the way a Venus Flytrap was.

“Yes,” Carrow said, “it must be so confusing for you, not remembering anything.” He pulled Harry closer, a barely-there sneer gracing his face. “But we will get you settled in just right.”

Harry refrained from raising an eyebrow at this rather sad attempt at intimidation. Oh – he suspected it might unnerve an average fourth year, to be cornered and taunted by older students.

However, he had endured a hell of a lot worse than childish insults during his life. This was almost boring for him.

“You’re too kind.” Harry told them sweetly, glancing away to try and mask the amusement on his face. “But I think I’ll get on just fine without you, thanks.”

There was a lull, then Carrow laughed, loud and angry. “Fun thing, Nattie. That was not a suggestion.”

Just like that, he shoved him.

Harry stumbled at the force, having not expected this to escalate so quickly. He had hardly even said anything.

His hip connected painfully with the back of one of the lounges, and his hands had to come up to brace himself on the soft leather. He scowled, his annoyance swiftly rolling into anger.

There were a number of students occupying the set of chairs he was facing – most in the older years – but only a small handful were actually watching the altercation happening right in front of them. There was an air of normalcy around them, as if this were just any other day.

And Harry suddenly _hated_ them.

What kind of person just stood by and let this sort of stuff happen?

 _Cowards,_ he thought ferally, _bloody cowards, the lot of them. Not willing to take a stand._

His fingers curled into the fine black leather, causing the faintest of creaks. He took a breath to regain his composure, before turning back to face his aggravators. He clenched his fists.

“See, this is how things work in Slytherin, Nattie. There is an _order_ here, a hierarchy, if you will.” Carrow stepped towards him, and Harry felt his anger wash away into the icy calm he was so used to falling back on. Hearing them twist Nathan's name like that, hearing the _tone_ they used did nothing but push him further.

“My friends and I are at the top.” Carrow explained as he prowled closer. “And you, _you,_ Nattie, are all the way down the bottom. Do you know what that means?”

 _Please do tell me more,_ he thought as he calculated the distance between them.

“It means that we can do whatever we want to you, and you can only stand there and take it.”

They were almost chest-to-chest now, and Harry was forced to tilt his head back to meet the other’s gaze. He could feel the weight of eyes on them.

“So, if I want to show you around, I can. If I want you scared and miserable and crying, I can. If I want you in pain, then guess what kid – I _can.”_

Everyone was watching now, but no one bothered to speak up. They clearly wanted a show.

Harry was more than willing to provide one.

He stayed silent, watching Carrow patiently as the boy moved to grab him, waiting as that hand drew closer. He refused to make the first move, but he was more than willing to end whatever they started.

It was only fair to warn him though.

“Don’t touch me.” He said firmly, quietly.

Carrow ignored him, and Harry bit back a savage smile.

Those harsh fingers barely skimmed his shirt before Harry slapped it off to the side and away from his chest. Within the next breath, his open palm slammed solidly into Carrow’s nose, driving up with all the force his skinny body could muster.

The obscene _crack_ that sounded through the common room was accompanied by a chorus of sharp gasps, and it was like music to his ears. Carrow tumbled to the ground with a short spray of blood and a choked cry.

The nose was such a weak point in the body, and took only a small amount of force to break. The amount of power he had put behind that hit would have shattered more than one thing.

Carrow howled, hands cupping his bleeding face and muffling the noise. His eyes were squeezed shut against the pain.

Already, Harry could see the bruises forming. _Good,_ a part of him purred in delight.

“Oops.” He offered in the wake of his attack, entirely unrepentant.

“You little _prick.”_ The second boy came for him, and Harry easily side-stepped. He grabbed fistfuls of the back of his shirt and gave him a helping hand up and over the lounge behind him.

The students sitting there scattered like mice as the boy went careening through.

Harry ducked neatly, having already sensed the curse closing in from the third and final attacker.

He dodged the next one as well and sprung towards him, stopping just before him and grabbing his outstretched wrist. Harry spun into the other’s chest, keeping a firm grip as he did, so his back was to his chest. Harry threw his elbow back while twisting the boy’s wrist, winding him and forcing him to drop his wand.

He pushed him away, making the student stumble and almost trip as he tried to regain his feet.

Harry glanced around, daring someone to make a move.

No one so much as twitched. 

He scanned the room one last time, something in his chest humming in approval at the stupefied expressions that were being levelled his way.

_Maybe now they’ll leave me alone._

He turned his attention back to Carrow, who was still shaking on the floor. “You should probably heal that,” he told him calmly, gesturing vaguely towards his nose. “and next time, when I tell you _don’t touch me,_ maybe you should listen.”

He stepped over the downed boy and headed out of the common area, not bothering to look back, and leaving a devastating silence behind.

He scaled the steps and slipped into the hall leading to the bedrooms.

Harry spotted the small sign with _Boys_ written elegantly on the staircase to the left. He climbed to the fourth floor and sighed, rubbing at his hair. 

He paused when he came to the long, dark hallway, the stone walls only broken by the oak doors running along them.

Harry had only been in the Slytherin common room once or twice since he had graduated – occasionally ducking to give a Defence lecture, or help particular students who were more troubled than the peers.

He had never strayed beyond the sitting area before, and was honestly surprised at how different it was from Gryffindor. 

“They get individual rooms?” He muttered in disbelief, marvelling at how utterly _unfair_ that was. “Bloody Slytherins.” He said with a shake of his head.

At least an individual room meant privacy, and with that, Harry could not refrain from grinning.

Once he threw up a couple of specific wards around his room, and enhanced the ones already there, it would be one of the most secure places he could do his research in. Harry was under no illusions. Up until now, he had planned to basically become a permanent fixture in the library to figure this out.

It was nice to know he now had a new option to use. Variety was the spice of life, after all.

He headed for the first door on the right, seeing Nathan’s name carved beautifully on the silver plaque. Harry took a moment to trace his fingers over the letters, allowing himself to feel yet another sting of sorrow for the boy he was pretending to be.

Being an outcast was not an easy thing – Harry knew this intimately, having always been _separate_ no matter what he did. Too freaky for his relatives. The Boy Who Lived. The Chosen One. The Wizard Who Won. Always, _always_ different – and being an outcast in Slytherin would be its own special brand of torture.

Hopefully, with his little display, he would be left relatively alone.

“That was amazing!”

“Fucking hell!” Harry jerked around, body falling into a standard defensive form. The curse fell from his lips without thought, and he winced at his volume.

A dark haired boy stared up at him, grey eyes wide and bright. The smile on his face was so sweet that Harry was immediately suspicious. No one was that innocent – especially not in Slytherin. 

The boy looked horribly familiar though, even with his features softened with youth. Harry wondered wildly if he had encountered this one in his own time, when he was older and more worn.

Neither of them spoke after Harry’s outburst, and the silence was strained with something that sent warning bells blaring in the back of his mind.

Despite his instincts, Harry slowly eased out of his stance. He squinted down at the boy, trying to place his face, taking away the lingering traces of fat and adding age lines. 

The kid continued to stare up at him happily.

“Can I help you?” He eventually bit out, tense in his uncertainty.

The boy’s smile widened, if that were even possible. His eyes crinkled in mirth. “What you did to Carrow, that was splendid.” He gushed, stepping closer. Harry’s shoulders pulled tighter together, and his lips thinned.

“He is such a twat, but because of his age, no one bothers to challenge him. But that – back there? Stunning. Absolutely fantastic.”

Harry leaned away from those too-shrewd eyes. “Yeah, thanks.”

“Completely moronic, of course. I mean, honestly.” The boy rolled his eyes, the tinge of playfulness in his voice curling over his words. “Now they are just going to go after you _more.”_

Harry used two fingers to push on the boy’s shoulder and gently move him back away, having grown uncomfortable with the lack of distance between them. A flicker of surprise flew through those grey eyes before being masked by the childish innocence. 

“If they try something,” Harry told him plainly, “then they’ll get more than a broken nose and a couple of bruises.”

Approval lingered at the corners of the boy’s lips, and he suddenly seemed much older than he was. “I’m sure.” He murmured, eyes roaming intently over Harry’s face, searching for something.

“Look,” Harry started, “could you just, go away?” He waved his hand back towards the stairs.

“No.”

Harry clenched his teeth, “Kid, seriously. Piss off.”

The boy continued to stare at his forehead, and Harry was so used to that that he did not even think to question it. That is, until the boy’s hand whipped out like a snake and his fingers brushed against the smooth, unblemished skin there.

Harry snapped his head back, though his rage spluttered out when he saw the boy run his tongue over the tips of his fingers, taking away the smudges of blood there and leaving a layer of saliva.

“What the hell?” Harry hissed, reaching up and rubbing at his skin. His fingers came away with only the faintest red taint. 

“You made Carrow bleed.” Was all the kid said, inspecting his now-clean fingers with interest. 

Harry stared at the boy with a mix of shock and disgust. What kind of psychopath went around _licking up other people’s blood?_

“I’m Orion Black, by the way. I figured I should introduce myself, since we are going to be such good friends. And, you know, since you do not remember anything.”

Orion. Black.

_Fuck._

This was Sirius’ father. _That_ was why he looked so familiar. It was all there, in the slope of his lips and the shape of his eyes, in his colouring and the wave of his hair. Even the glint in those grey depths was similar, though it was less playful than Sirius’ had been and more taunting. 

Harry stepped back suddenly, hitting the door with a dull _thump._ Orion watched him curiously, face too open to be anything but a trap.

“Are you alright? You look nervous.”

 _I wonder why,_ Harry thought wildly, refraining from tearing at his hair in panic. He had never wanted to deal with any of this shit.

“-ro? Ciro?” 

Orion had been calling his name repeatedly, hardly pausing for air. 

“What?” Harry snapped, glaring at the smaller boy fiercely. 

“It’s rude to ignore your friends.” Orion told him in a sing-song voice, so innocent and _oh-so-mocking._ His mouth stretched into that sweet smile again.

Harry had never encountered such a disturbing child before. 

_Black Family Madness,_ a voice whispered in the back of his mind.

He had seen it consume Bellatrix. He had seen Sirius struggle with it for years. Even Draco – after the war, drunk and tired, shoulder to shoulder with Harry one night – had spoken of his fear of being taken by the _curse._

He could see it in Orion right now; in the slightly unhinged edge to his whole form, the energy bubbling in him.

“Orion.”

The boy’s head tilted in the direction of the voice, his eyes never straying from Harry’s. “Yes, Gus?”

In his peripheral Harry could see another boy approaching, taller than both of them. “What are you doing?”

“Making a new friend.” He replied easily, blinking and turning to ‘Gus’. Harry took the chance to glance at the newcomer as well.

He was handsome in the same way most purebloods were, and carried himself with a subtle confidence. He was clearly on the precipice of manhood, body already shedding his childish looks.

Those dark eyes briefly flickered to Harry, giving him a cursory glance and nothing more, before returning to Orion.

“I see.” Again, his eyes darted to Harry and back. “Ciro’s clearly busy. And you have an assignment due tomorrow I believe. Have you finished it?”

“Oh, Gus.” Orion whined, leaning heavily against Harry and completely ignoring the way he turned to stone at the touch. “You suck the fun out of everything. I want to talk to Ciro.”

Harry stared down at the neat head of hair pressed against his chest, discontent. The change between Orion’s moods was swift and dangerous.

But at the same time he felt nothing but pity for the boy. He was so bloody young, and already he was being affected by his family’s affliction. It was – it was honestly _sad._ Because all he could see in front of him was Sirius.

Despite Harry’s desire to keep to himself, he knew, logically, that that would not be possible. He had already made such a big splash in Slytherin, and he had not even been here an hour. Going at this without even some tentative bonds would just put him in more trouble with the other students.

It would be a great help if he were ‘friends’ with at least one influential person. He knew Orion was influential. Young as he was, the boy was a Black, and the Black family was notorious in all circles. In Slytherin, he would be like royalty.

Sticking close to Orion might give him a slight advantage, might deter the less zealous students from coming at him with pitch forks.

And if his sort-of friendship just so happened to give Harry a chance to maybe help a young boy, well. He was not about to complain.

Harry cleared his throat softly and reached out to once again push Orion away from him. He kept a hand on the boy’s shoulders though, and gave a small smile when the other looked up at him questioningly.

“I’m sorry, Orion. I was being horribly rude to you.” He apologised, even as a part of his mind was still reeling from the fact that he was _speaking to Sirius’ father._ “You’re right, everything’s just so weird without my memories. I would be honoured to be friends with you.”

Orion’s eyes lit up in joy, and his smile was entirely genuine this time. “Really? Hear that, Gus?” Orion spun back to his friend, beaming. “Ciro and I are friends now.” He declared it with no small amount of smugness.

‘Gus’ nodded at the boy, though the moment Orion had turned back to his new friend, a vicious glare was shot at Harry. There was a warning in his gaze, one that Harry would be careful to heed.

He had no interest in rocking the boat more than he needed to.

“Well, this has been fun,” Harry said, patting Orion on the shoulder. “but I think I’d like to get in my room now. Got a lot to do.”

Orion hummed in agreement, and stepped back to give Harry space to open his door.

“We can have dinner together tonight,” Orion told him brightly. “Just wait for me in the common room and I will meet you there.”

_Urgh, eating at the Slytherin table. God help me._

Still, he gave a smile. “Sounds great. See you then.”

Harry shut the door.

# OoO

“He talks funny.” Orion proclaimed the moment he heard the door locked. His head was cocked to the side, intrigued, and he wandered back over to Augustus.

“I am more surprised that he talks at all. Ciro could hardly string two words together before.” Augustus said, obediently allowing Orion to grab his hand and tug him back down the stairs.

Orion laughed quietly, “Did you _see_ how he beat down Carrow? Sure, it was terribly muggle of him, but one can appreciate the sentiment. The statement he just made takes a lot of guts.”

Augustus grunted, “I am more interested in finding out where he learned those moves from. Ciro – he couldn’t do that before.”

The smaller boy knew that was true. While the moves Ciro had used where not particularly astonishing or skilled, it was the _way_ he moved that was fascinating. There was a confidence to Ciro now. He carried himself with a self-assurance he had lacked for years. He had so smoothly transitioned between Carrow and his two fumbling accomplices, subdued them with so little effort.

It made Orion’s heart quicken in excitement.

He thought back to the speckles of blood that had littered Ciro’s pale forehead. The _anger_ in those eyes when he had tried to corner him.

His mouth twitched.

"He called me Orion." He told Augustus, tipping his head back to watch the other. His friend's face twisted, and Orion laughed.

They re-entered the common room, blatantly ignoring Carrow’s snarling and the whisperings of the other students.

Nathan Ciro had certainly made an impression.

Orion lead Augustus over to their spot. His shoulders tensed when he saw who had finally joined them.

“Riddle.” Augustus greeted for both of them, masking his discomfort.

Riddle glanced up at them, dark brown eyes assessing them blankly. “Lestrange. Black.” 

They sat down on the unoccupied lounge to Riddle’s right. Orion glanced over at Thelonious Nott. The slim, pale boy was slumped in his own chair, eyes fixed blindly on the ceiling. Next to him, Linus Avery sat, back ramrod straight.

“When did you get back?” Orion asked, head swivelling to Riddle. He kicked his legs back and forth. 

In Riddle’s lap sat the genealogy book he had precured for him. Riddle had never said why he wanted it, and Orion had not asked, but the other boy had been quietly devouring the pages for a good week.

“About two minutes ago. I couldn’t help but notice Carrow’s face had been rearranged.” There was a flicker of amusement in his voice. Orion knew Riddle had no love for Carrow, having been a victim of the older student’s ire for most of his first two years.

Orion’s legs froze mid-swing, a large grin overtaking his face. “Oh, you missed all the excitement!” He whispered, leaning over Augustus to get closer to Riddle. The other boy indulged him, curving his head towards him.

“Ciro’s back.” Orion said gleefully.

“I thought he was amnesic. Why would he be at school?” There was a hint of suspicion in those brown eyes, and Orion knew Riddle was already connecting the dots.

Orion smothered a giggle. “I don’t know why he is back. But memory or not, it didn’t stop him from breaking Carrow’s nose. You should have seen it, Riddle. One hit. That is all it took.”

Interest bloomed on his face, and Riddle canted his body more towards him. “Ciro hit him?”

“And sent Malcolm over a lounge, and probably sprained Kilan’s wrist when he went to curse him.” Nott piqued up airily, still staring at the ceiling. 

There was a pause, and Riddle’s eyebrows ticked upwards. “And where is he now?”

“Hiding in his room.” Augustus said, disapproval emitting from his every pore.

Orion rolled his eyes, “Gus is mad at me because Ciro and I are friends now.”

“Friends?” Riddle asked, lips forming the word like it was from another language, tasting how it fell from his tongue.

Orion hummed. “I want to pull him apart.” He said happily. “He is so much more interesting now.” He wriggled around so his head was pillowed in Augustus’ lap. “Don’t you think, Gus?” He tugged on his sleeve. “We can have some fun now.”

Augustus smoothed a hand over his forehead, “School work first. Then you can play as much as you want.”

Orion pouted up at him. “You are such a stick in the mud.” Nevertheless, he brightened moments later. “By the way, I invited him to sit with us for dinner.”

His announcement was met with varying looks of annoyance from the others.

“What?” He asked.

“Are you serious?” Avery sneered. “I will be the first to admit he was surprisingly competent with Carrow’s lot. But he is still _Ciro._ You do remember who he is, yes?”

 _“I_ want him to sit with us.” Orion said, the slightest amount of steel entering his tone. He was satisfied to see the barest of grimaces pass over Avery’s face. “Riddle?”

Orion made no effort to turn to look at the other as he addressed him. There was a tumultuous balance in their group right now, and while Orion was at the top because of _blood,_ Riddle was right there next to him in terms of powers.

The next two years would be crucial in determining who won, but honestly, Orion did not particularly care. 

“Who am I to get in the way of your games?” Riddle said after a moment, and any tension evaporated from Orion’s body.

With the two of them in agreement, there was nothing the others could do to stop him.

“Great!” He chirped. “I can’t wait.”

# OoO

Harry groaned tiredly as he stepped out of his room, clicking the door closed absently. He was exhausted, having spent a solid hour and a half reinforcing his room with every ward he could think of that would not set Hogwarts’ alarms off.

As well as that, he had also had to unpack his – _Nathan’s_ – suitcase while trying not to feel like a creep for handling all of his personal belongings.

And now he had to deal with dinner and all the sneaky politics he knew Slytherin operated on. 

With a sigh, he made for the stairs, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose as he battled with a fledgling headache. He might have overdone it with his magic.

Harry reached the first landing and as he rounded the corner, he smacked into someone.

They went down with a grunt, and Harry’s mouth fell open without prompt.

“Fuck. Shit. Sorry,” he pushed himself up. “wasn’t watching where I was going. Fuck.” He rubbed the back of his head where he knew a bump would likely form.

He reached out and picked up the thick book the other must have dropped, briefly skimming the title and scrunching his nose up at the thought of genealogy. 

“Here you go.” He held it out, finally looking up.

He choked.

Tom Riddle snatched the book out of his hand, jaw clenched in agitation, not even bothering to hide it.

“What the _fuck?”_ Harry gasped, eyes widening.

Riddle – _baby Voldemort_ his mind spluttered – frowned at him, eyes probing. “You kiss your mother with that mouth, Ciro?”

And God that voice was exactly the same as he remembered. It had been years since he had trudged through the memories about young Voldemort, but Harry could never quite wash the lingering presence off of his mind.

Harry stared at his parents' murderer.

He was so _small._

Not as small as eleven-year old Riddle had been, but he was not the handsome prefect either. Caught somewhere between the two stages.

It was surreal.

When he failed to reply, Riddle pushed himself to his feet, glaring down at Harry. “Get up, you idiot.” He demanded. 

Harry’s fists clenched at the order, hackles bristling because yeah – this might not be the mass-murdering Dark Lord, but he was sure Riddle was well on his way to taking the title. 

“Fuck you, Riddle.” He spat, springing to his feet, and before he did something stupid – like punch him, or slam him against the wall – Harry raced down the remaining stairs like the devil himself was on his heels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Harry's bruised some faces and some egos, Orion is weirdly endearing to me in his own psychotic little way and is really interested in Harry, and yay - Riddle and Harry have made contact!
> 
> Next chapter will definitely have the dinner with Slytherin, and I'm hoping to get Harry submerged in Slytherin dynamics and politics and alliances soonish.
> 
> Lemme know what you thought guys~


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys - so so so sorry about the long wait! RL has been kicking me for a while and I had a lot of trouble getting this chapter out of my head and actually down on a document. But it's finally here so yay?
> 
> Thanks for all the beautiful comments and kudos, and I hope you all enjoy!

Harry’s hand beat rapidly against his thigh in time with his steps as he made his way to the Great Hall.

He was only partially aware of Orion hovering somewhere to his right, chattering amiably, and the other boy – Gus – following half a step behind him.

He made the occasional soft noise whenever Orion looked like he was talking to him, to at least give the impression that he was interested in what he was saying. In reality, his mind was miles away, stuck in the past - _his_ past. 

There was no way they did not notice his lack of attention, but neither of the boys seemed too upset over the fact.

Harry went to adjust his glasses, only for his fingers to skim over his bare flesh instead. He huffed in irritation. Habits like that were ridiculously hard to get rid of, he supposed, and after spending almost two decades wearing the things the tick was not going anywhere anytime soon.

He felt naked without the familiar weight on his face.

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose instead to cover his mistake, and even that felt wrong – his nose much too thin.

His hand dropped and he scowled unhappily, his thoughts unwillingly trailing back to the problem plaguing him.

He wanted to be angry.

No. He wanted to be _furious._

But no matter how his mind churned and his stomach clenched, he could not summon the familiar rage he had come to accept over the years.

It was disquieting.

Harry had never had a problem reacting to his emotions before. Anger, especially, was difficult for him to control on the best of days. He did not like to think he that was a violent person per say, but even he knew what his faults were.

His temper tended to get him into more trouble than anything. He was so used to it being right there for him to fall back on, right underneath his skin.

Having Tom _fucking_ Riddle shoved in his face like that should have had him reaching for his wand or frothing at the mouth.

And yet the only thing he could muster was a sense of vague annoyance.

Because of course, _of course_ he landed in 1942, smack in the middle of Riddle’s student years. Only Harry could somehow pull off something this ludicrous and unfair without even meaning to.

He could barely get past his shock to even find the energy to be mad. He was more annoyed that he had not even realised the significance of the year.

Harry paused on the threshold of the Great Hall, eyes distant as he thought to himself.

Being around Riddle was definitely going to complicate things. Harry had no doubt as to his abilities to avoid and – if necessary – handle the boy. If he were younger, less sure of himself, maybe then Harry would hold some reservations about dealing with him.

But honestly, Harry was so far above in terms of knowledge and skill right now that he could easily wipe the floor with a fourteen-year old wizard, no matter how prodigious they were.

So no, he was not so much _nervous_ about Riddle as he was cautious.

There was one thing he was absolutely sure about though. Riddle could not, under any circumstances, find out who he really was. There was so much he could do if he knew even half the information Harry had bumbling around in his head.

He might not have been the best history student, but he knew enough about this period to get by. Enough information to ruin everything. But it was more than even that. Harry had been, directly and indirectly in equal measures, involved in a number of crucial events in their future.

The last thing a budding Dark Lord needed was knowledge of the coming decades.

 _God,_ Harry thought with a sudden chill, _if he ever found out about Halloween, who’s to say what he might do?_

Riddle could try so many things to avoid that fate. He could ignore the prophecy altogether. He could knock Lily out instead of killing her, thus removing the protection over Harry. He could just blow the Potter’s house to kingdom come instead of personally killing them.

 _Stop it._ He told his brain, before it spiralled out of control. _He’s not going to find out. There’s nothing to worry about._

So, for the sake of preserving the timeline and protecting his own sanity, interacting with Riddle more than completely necessary – because he just knew the other would be coming for him, thanks to their less-than-stellar meeting – was a big no.

Which was fine with him. Harry had no idea how he would even react to the boy if he lost his temper around him.

 _Although…no Tom Riddle, no Voldemort, no war…_ He shook his head, reminding himself sharply that getting rid of Riddle would likely do more harm than good.

There might be a _possibility_ that killing Riddle stopped it all. His parents, his friends, everyone who had ever died or suffered because of the man could be saved.

But there was also the possibility that he completely destroyed everything. That someone worse than Voldemort could rise in his place. He was sure that if Riddle never came into power, someone would have. Power and greed would always be there to corrupt some unfortunate soul.

And what right did _Harry_ have to gamble with the lives of thousands – potentially _millions_ – of people? He was not a god, and he was not selfish enough to take the chance of things being better based on _a gamble._

It was better for everyone that he limit the changes he made as much as possible.

The temptation to eliminate Riddle would just have to be kept in check for however long he was here.

_“Ciro!”_

The hand reaching for him startled him loose from his thoughts, and Harry snapped his own around the thin, pale wrist to stop it before it touched him.

He blinked quickly, and saw Orion frowning at him. It had been him who had hissed at him, then.

“Shit,” he said, dropping the arm like it burned him. “sorry Orion. Are you okay?” He grasped the wrist again, gentler this time, and twisted it to examine the skin. There were no marks, at least, which made him sigh in relief.

The last thing he needed was to add assault to his long list of problems.

“I am fine.” The boy said, pulling himself away from Harry’s soft inspection. “Are _you_ though? I was calling for you for almost a minute.”

“You were?” Harry cast a glance around and noted just how many people were staring at them. He scowled at the attention, knowing he would never really be comfortable with so many people watching him.

Orion hunched closer, lowering his voice. “Did you remember something?” He asked kindly.

Harry’s eyes shot to him, narrowed and assessing. It was so obvious to him what Orion was doing in that moment, trying to build a rapport between them by being supportive. Harry briefly wondered if he would have caught this if he were even two or three years younger.

He did want to help the boy, but what does Orion think he would gain from getting close to him?

Just a friend? A loyal follower? The Ciro’s were rich and influential, but they were nowhere close to the Black’s status, so monetary and social favours were out. 

Harry tilted his head. 

_What do you want?_

“No,” he answered after a pause. “Just lost in thought.”

Orion and Gus shared a look, before returning their focus to him. Orion hummed and took his hand, threading their fingers together much to Harry’s discomfort.

“Oh well, let’s go sit and eat now. I am famished.”

Harry tried once or twice to pull his hand free, but the boy only tightened his hold. _So much more aware than he projects,_ Harry mused as he was dragged in the direction of Slytherin House.

He tossed one longing look over his shoulder at the blazing red and gold table, before folding under Orion’s insistent hands shoving him onto the bench.

The boy slipped in beside him, pressing closer than strictly polite, but Harry decided to ignore it for now. He somehow doubted the other would try anything harmful right now, so it should be safe.

He ignored the way Gus stared at him from over Orion’s head, gaze boring holes into his skull.

He ignored the side-glances he was receiving from essentially every table and every corner of the hall.

He ignored the whispers and snickers.

And he especially ignored the slim form of Tom Riddle sitting down across from him.

 _Dammit,_ Harry thought, staring down at his tiny, pale hands to avoid the other’s eyes; and absurdly he missed the maps of paper-thin white scars that used to stand out from his bronzed skin. This body was free of any marks except the ones that were shared with nearly every witch and wizard; callouses from where his wand sat in his hand.

And those were off too. Nathan Ciro had a different form to him, hands that gripped his wand in a way that felt unnatural to Harry. The callouses were only a centimetre or two out, but it was enough for Harry to feel the prickle of _wrong_ in his chest.

“So, Ciro, this is a new place for you.” Harry looked up when he registered someone was talking to him, cocking his head to see an older student a little ways up watching him.

“What?” He asked, not understanding. He was still caught somewhere between wanting to claw his way out of his skin and just closing his eyes and wishing this all away.

Her nose wrinkled at his question, as if she smelt something rancid. _“This.”_ She said pointedly, as if that would somehow make it clear what she was talking about.

Harry squinted his eyes at her, eyebrows raising slowly. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

She snorted, lips snarling. “Well, at least that has not changed.”

There was a smattering of cruel chuckles, and despite himself, Harry felt his hackles raising. He never did handle being mocked very well.

He clenched his jaw, and in his lap his hands curled into fists. 

“I meant,” she carried on, “that _you,_ sitting _here,_ is new. You must feel so very special.”

Harry glanced around, confused. What did she even mean? What was so special about sitting at the Slytherin table? Even an outcast in Slytherin would have to sit here.

Or…did she mean sitting with Orion? He knew hierarchy was important in most Houses, but more so in Slytherin than any of the others. If Nathan had been on the outskirts of his House, than Harry doubted he would have been sitting next to the heir of one of the most prominent families in Britain.

Were some of them actually _mad_ that he was sitting with Orion?

Harry felt his lips twitch as his mood abruptly lifted, and the laughter burst out of him against his better judgement.

He covered his mouth with his hand, trying to smother the sound. His shoulders shook and he had to turn his face away from them all because their affronted expressions were too much.

“Sorry,” he gasped out, “sorry.”

“You think this is funny?” She snapped, leaning over some of the empty plates. The intimidation tactic might have worked if Harry did not spend most of his time staring down hardened criminals and murderers.

Harry, always willing to flirt with danger, leaned towards her to. His mouth twisted into a grin. “Oh love,” he said, “I think it’s hilarious.”

“You are treading on thin ice here, Ciro. Watch it, or you will find yourself in a world of trouble.”

“Is that a threat?” He asked, swaying forward a little more, taunting her. “You must have missed what happened in the common room then.” His grin turned vicious. “Unless you’re prepared to back your words up right now, I suggest you leave me alone. I don’t take well to threats, no matter how piss-poor they are.”

She jerked back, whether from his language or from his own warning, he did not know. Regardless, he knew he won the moment she showed that hint of weakness.

The girl sneered at him, but turned away.

Harry smirked.

“You should be more careful.”

The quiet comment immediately drew his attention, and without conscious thought, his eyes darted to Riddle.

The boy was watching him curiously, not a hint of anything remotely sinister in his eyes. Harry was not fooled.

“Why?” He asked, unable to resist. “If they come at me, I’m not going to just sit here and take it.”

Riddle tilted his head, curious. “You did before.”

Something about that remark made Harry feel ill. Maybe it was the reminder that no one, not even Nathan, had tried to put a stop to the bullying. Maybe it was just that Riddle was the one that said it.

He did not care which.

“Yeah, well,” Harry said, feeling defensive, “maybe I got tired of it.”

“I think it is good.” Orion said, smoothly inserting himself into the conversation. “Standing up for yourself is important.”

“But purposefully antagonising others and creating enemies is stupid.” Riddle shot back.

“Maybe I don’t care.” Harry said. “Maybe it’s _me_ people should avoid making an enemy of.”

Riddle cocked an eyebrow, effortlessly catching the warning in his words. “Margaret Flint is not someone to take lightly.” He told him.

 _Flint?_ Harry glanced back at the girl, trying to find any trace of Marcus in her face. It was hard, seeing as how she was the same brand of beauty most purebloods were, and Marcus was… _not._

Harry shook his head again. “Still don’t care. If she picks a fight she better damn well be ready to follow through.”

Riddle made a faint noise in the back of his throat, but turned his head towards the front of hall just as the teachers filed in. Harry sat back as well, glad that little conversation was over. He refused to be lulled into a false sense of security though. Riddle would be a feature in his life while he was here, and Harry knew these little questions would just build from here.

Dippet thankfully made no mention of Harry’s arrival at the school, instead just giving brief notices about the next day, before summoning the food.

Harry let some of the tension bleed out of him as he ate. It had been a while since he had stopped by Hogwarts to teach a lesson, and he had missed the splendid array of food available. 

He nibbled his way through his dinner, mind wandering.

It was after most of the teachers had finished their own meals and departed from the hall, that his peace was shattered when someone upended a jug of juice over his head. 

Harry froze, fork halfway to his mouth as the sweet-smelling liquid cascaded over him.

The hall descended into silence, before erupting into laughter.

He was soaked, and his eyes burned from where a bit of juice had hit them. Slowly, he turned his head to see Carrow standing behind him, a dark smile on his face. _“Oops.”_ The older student spat, and pissed as he was, Harry had to admit that regurgitating his own words back at him now was a nice move.

Carrow set the jug down on the table beside him, and Harry watched as he walked away.

Automatically, he looked at the Head Table, and his blood boiled when he saw that the remaining ones had already turned away.

 _What is wrong with all of them?_ He thought in disbelief. It had happened right in front of them, no attempts of even disguising the act. And they just _sat there?_

Harry turned his attention to Carrow’s back, mouth tightening. He felt the surge of magic rise inside him, riding the coattails of his anger.

Harry barely paused to acknowledge that apparently his temper was still very much there, when he sent a wave of magic towards the boy. It snaked around Carrow’s ankle and _yanked._

Harry watched, satisfaction heavy in his stomach as Carrow went crashing to the floor. The boy’s arms reached out to catch himself, but he grabbed a student rather than the table and brought them down with him.

It was just pure luck that that student happened to be Margaret Flint.

Harry took his wand out and cleaned himself with a simple flick of his wrist, marvelling at the chaos exploding from just down the table. A set of professors – Slughorn and one he did not recognise – raced over, and a part of him bristled at the fact that _now_ the teachers were rushing over.

Slughorn was helping Flint untangle herself from Carrow, standing there placidly as the girl started ripping into the boy. He made only one or two attempts to defuse the situation, and Harry wanted to shake.

Apparently, Nathan Ciro was not important enough to warrant the same faux-concern from his own Head of House.

Harry stood up, tapping Orion on the shoulder. The younger boy blinked up at him, distracted from the scene, and he looked surprised to see that the juice was gone. 

“I’m heading back to the common room. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He left without waiting for a reply.

# OoO

Tom observed as Ciro slipped out of the Great Hall, his chin perched in his palm. His eyes slowly flicked back to the absolute mess Carrow and Flint had made of themselves, and how Slughorn was starting to finally step in and calm things down.

He looked to Orion next, meeting the younger boy’s eyes easily.

“That was interesting.” He murmured.

And it truly was.

Because what Ciro just did – that should not have been possible. Not for him.

Tom had only heard snippets of what had occurred in the common room, about the confrontation between Ciro and Carrow’s lot. But even with the testimony of Orion and the others, he almost had not believed it.

The thought that _Nathan Ciro,_ the most spineless little miscreant to ever walk these corridors, had not only picked a fight with, but also won against the current head of Slytherin was preposterous. 

All of Tom’s knowledge about the other boy was purely, consequentially, from sharing the same facilities with him for four years now. He knew enough to confidently say that never before had Ciro ever posed any form of threat to anyone.

To be perfectly honest, Tom had just never cared about Ciro enough to pay much attention to him. The other boy had been _boring._ There was nothing remotely interesting about him that Tom had not already discovered within the first two weeks at Hogwarts.

Ciro was a particular brand of uninteresting, and after Tom had studied him and found him lacking, he had rarely tossed another thought his way.

Now, however, Ciro was acting far too differently. The common room incident could possibly be explained away – because Tom never quite trusted second-hand recounts of anything, simply because people inevitably missed vital observations and that twisted their reports.

But what had just occurred, Ciro contesting Margaret Flint to her face and – more importantly – getting her to back down? Issuing challenges left and right with the brazen carelessness he thought only Gryffindors possessed?

Tom had witnessed it with his own eyes, and there was no disputing that it had happened. 

And the way he had threatened Tom himself.

 _“Maybe it’s_ me _people should avoid making an enemy of.”_

If Ciro had said that before his accident Tom would have laughed. Now though, with the way Ciro had met his gaze so effortlessly, the confident slouch of his body, the steel in his grey eyes…It was clear that Tom had to start recategorising the other boy immediately.

“He did that, didn’t he?” Orion whispered, eyes darting from Carrow and back to the open space beside him. There was something much like wary disbelief in his eyes. “Ciro tripped him.”

Tom hummed lightly.

“He did not use his wand,” Orion continued softly, so that only Augustus and Tom could hear him clearly. “I did not hear him say a spell either.”

“Wandless and nonverbal?” Augustus scoffed, tone sceptical. “Ciro can barely hold his wand correctly. You want to try and convince me that he tripped Carrow?”

“He did it.” Tom said, and Augustus settled due to the faint rebuttal in his words. “What intrigues me is exactly how he accomplished it.” His fingers drummed along the table once before he stopped them. “You’re partially right, Lestrange. Ciro has some talent with a wand, but he’s hardly strong enough to manifest wandless magic.”

Orion chewed carefully on his mouthful of chicken, before looking up at Tom through his eyelashes. “He remembered the way here.” He told him. “I do not think he even realised it, but Gus and I were with him, and not once did he hesitate or look lost.”

“Really?” Tom asked, drawing the word out as he glanced back to the door of the Great Hall. “Subconscious memory, perhaps?”

Even as he said that, Tom had doubts. He knew little about amnesia, having never truly been interested in the subject before, but was it really that simple? Ciro had walked to and from the Great Hall at least once every day since he first arrived at Hogwarts. 

He thought back over what Orion had said, of Ciro not realising he was leading their way. Was that just instinct? Muscle memory?

Tom frowned lightly as he took a bite of his dinner.

These questions brought him back to the biggest one that had been niggling at his mind since he had bumped into Ciro earlier on the stairwell.

Just how on earth did Ciro know his name?

# OoO

_The corridors were crumbling around him as Harry sprinted through the mansion. Fissures chased him as he rounded a corner, licking at his heels._

_The portraits lining the walls were filled with warped faces, all of their mouths opened in silent screams. Their fingers were clawing at the frames, straining to break free from the thin canvases._

_Harry gritted his teeth, forcing himself to ignore the grotesque images._

_The ringing in his head grew and grew and grew until he was running with his hands clamped over ears and his eyes screwed shut._

_A hand snagged at his collar, and blindly Harry lashed out, stirring through something that felt more like heavy smoke than a body._

_He wrenched himself away and started running again, breath punching out of him._

_The shadows reached for him, pressing in around him and Harry felt a sob building in his throat because he had never felt a helplessness like this before._

_“Harry…” A voice crooned, barely audible above the screeches echoing around him._

_He slipped into another hallway, hardly making it more than a metre before something hooked around his legs and forced him to the ground._

_Harry thrashed, fingers digging into filthy carpet as he was hauled back._

_He twisted onto his back, throwing a wild attack, but whatever was crawling on top of him continued undeterred._

_It was a mass of utter darkness, shape indiscernible, and Harry choked because suddenly there was no air to breathe._

_“Harry.” It whispered again, voice falling somewhere between reverent and mocking._

_Something – a hand, but there were too many fingers – pressed against his side, sharp talons sinking into his skin and it burntburntburnt –_

_Harry screamed._

He flinched as he came awake. He was lying on his stomach, head resting on his pillow, arm buried beneath and the blanket curled around his legs.

Harry stayed where he was as his heart thundered away in his chest. His shirt was clinging to him and the night air was chilly, causing goose-bumps to erupt all over him.

He shuddered, trying to control his breathing into something not bordering on hyperventilation. Harry nestled his head back on his arms and counted down from one hundred, quietening his mind as best he could.

It had been a long time since he had had a nightmare like that. Even the dream - _vision?_ – about Nathan had not felt like that. The all-encompassing dread and fear that was wholly unique to night terrors was something Harry was unfortunately familiar with, though not in recent years.

But even still, this dream had been…more somehow. Usually they revolved around whatever was bothering in his waking hours. Voldemort, the war, the cupboard under the stairs. Being chased by a shadowy figure was not what he would have –

Harry’s whole body pulled taunt as a sudden alarm blared in his mind. Honed instincts slammed into him, a prickling awareness he had spent years cultivating telling him one, terribly important thing.

_There was someone in his room._

He breathed out slowly, expelling the tension in as natural a move as he could. All over his body his hair was standing on end for an entirely different reason now, seemingly drawn towards the intruder.

He waited to see if they would do anything, his senses painting an achingly clear picture in his head as whoever this was silently prowled from one side of his bed, down to the end, and back up the other side.

A cold flush washed over his skin, tracing their path with them.

Underneath his pillow, his fists dug into the bedspread. 

_They aren’t doing anything._ He thought frantically. _Is it Carrow? Flint? Riddle? How did they get past my wards?_ It was the perfect chance for anyone who had a grudge against him to do something. He was vulnerable here, his possible movements limited, only one escape route that could easily be blocked.

_Was this what Nathan had to deal with? Silent predators in the dark watching him? Ready to pounce at the slightest hint of weakness?_

The tantalising wave of fear and anger that spiked in his blood was finally enough to push him through whatever was keeping him frozen.

Harry lurched upwards, hand outstretched towards whoever it was, sending a simple _stupefy_ in their direction.

The blazing red zipped through the air and crashed into the shelf, rattling the books resting there. The brief flash illuminated the room just enough for Harry to feel confusion rise inside him.

There was silence in the wake of his attack, until he held his palm up and a soft white light sparked there.

The room was empty, save for him.

Harry cast his gaze around critically, unwilling to believe he had imagined that. There had to be _someone._

But with each pass of his eyes, it became obvious that there was no one; and a scan of his wards proved that nothing had entered the dorm since he had returned from dinner.

Harry ran a hand over his face, tugging through his damp hair.

“That doesn’t make any sense.” He murmured. “There was someone. I’m sure of it.” He bit his lip, searching the room once more in an almost desperate bid to find something.

There was nothing.

He sighed, slumping over his drawn up knee and scowling at the bobbing _lumos_ orb.

He must still be out of sorts from the nightmare, and dinner had rattled him more than he liked to admit. Being on the receiving end of such foul behaviour was difficult to swallow. Even taking into account his time with Dudley, and his horrendous fourth and fifth years, Harry had never really had to deal with physical bullying.

Having Carrow just so blatantly toss juice all over him had shocked him, mainly because he thought the others would not be brave enough to do anything in the most public place in Hogwarts.

But he was coming to understand that Nathan was not just bullied in Slytherin. No one from the other Houses had seemed particularly bothered by the act either.

Harry sighed again, straightening his legs out and pulling the blanket back, grimacing as it stuck to his body.

He started to get up, but the sudden flare of pain in his side had him hissing and slapping a palm over the burn.

Harry’s hand shook as he pressed against the spot.

With a burst of panicked energy he ripped his shirt up and shoved his pants down, his eyes roaming over his bare skin for any sign of what was hurting him.

His gaze zeroed in on a dark smudge, and with half a thought, the _lumos_ orb drifted closer. The shadows dispersed and revealed the inky lines on his pale skin.

There, tattooed low on his hip, was a horribly familiar symbol.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think that's a good place to leave it.
> 
> Let me know your thoughts :D


	7. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bless you all for the lovely comments~ It never fails to make me smile whenever I get to read all your wonderful comments/theories/despairing over my cliffhangers. Hope this one is just as enjoyable.
> 
> And yes to some of you who asked I did finish 'At the End of the Road' and ohmygurd I both intensely enjoyed it, and was a little unsatisfied and my emotions were so confused on what to feel haha. This story will be deviating quite a bit from the manga, though, so be prepared for many many changes darlings~

Harry hurried through the hallways, safely cocooned under the most powerful disillusionment charm he could put on himself. 

Breakfast had only just begun, but he had already been up for hours at this point, unable to go back to sleep after his nightmare.

His hand absently curled over his hip, where the mark still sat, and his teeth sunk into his bottom lip in worry.

He needed bloody answers, and he needed them now. Because seeing it drawn so pleasantly on his skin had rattled him more than anything these past few weeks had.

_It was a childish reaction, but Harry could not help but lick his thumb, and rub harshly at the small mark. When the symbol did not smudge or vanish, he closed his eyes, and took a deep, steadying breath._

_When he looked again, it was still the same._

_He choked back the urge to shout._

_Viciously, he dug his nails into his skin and dragged across it. Angry red lines slashed through the blackness._

_The burst of fresh pain cleared his mind._

_He dropped his shirt, covering the sign of the Deathly Hallows._

_Harry braced his elbows on his knees, and rested his face in his cupped hands. “Okay,” he said, voice shockingly loud in the quiet of his room. “okay. That was not there before.”_

_His whole body shuddered, and he hunched a little more. The fragile calm he had been clinging to all this time shattered._

_“What the hell is happening to me?” He asked, the words frantic and confused. His fingers gripped his hair brutally as he stared at the carpet._

_His eyes prickled horribly, and Harry clamped them closed to stop the tears._

_He had not cried since this entire thing had happened, had barely given himself time to dwell on what this could mean for him._

_But now it was all bubbling to the surface._

_The fear. The uncertainty. The rage and desperation. The questions that had been plaguing him._

_If he was here, did that mean Nathan was in his body? Or what if Nathan was really gone, then what was happening in Harry’s time? Was his body lying in the hospital, his friends and family standing around the bed, waiting for him to come back to them?_

_“I’m trying.” He whispered. “I’m trying but I don’t know_ how.” __

_And God, Ginny. Harry missed her terribly. If he thought hard enough, he could almost feel her hand gripping his tightly, refusing to let go._

_It just – it was so unfair. All of this. Had he not done enough? He had lost so much already. He had…he had sacrificed himself for everyone. When was all this just going to stop? Why could he not just live a normal, peaceful life?_

_And now this, this symbol inked into his skin, so smooth and seamless, like it had always been there. Like it_ belonged _on him_

_He stayed like that, with silent tears on his cheeks, until dawn started to peak through the curtains._

Last night had not been a good one. The surprise of the Deathly Hallows symbol showing up on his body, especially after such an intense, vivid dream, had kick-started his need to research.

So he decided to head to the one place he thought could help him.

 _Hermione would be so proud,_ Harry thought as he slipped through the library doors and into the quiet entrance room. 

The desk was unmanned, which was just perfect. The last thing Harry wanted to deal with was a nosy librarian suspecting that there was someone in here sneaking around. Because that type of behaviour would just lead to trouble he would rather not deal with.

Harry moved further into the library, bypassing the bookshelves as his eyes ran over the section titles. He stopped at one and started scanning the shelves from the small, blue book he needed.

His fingers caught one, and Harry pulled it free. _The Beedle and the Bard_ stared back up at him.

It had been a while since he had heard the story, but Harry was not particularly well-versed in Wizarding fairy tales anyway. His Muggle upbringing was both a blessing and a curse sometimes.

He tucked the book under his arm and set out for the restricted section. The door opened without a problem, and Harry stood still as the wards washed over him, probing. 

His time as a substitute professor had taught him a little about how Hogwarts worked. The restricted section only reacted favourably to students carrying an enchanted permission slip, or to an adult wizard.

Harry was hoping he met the latter criteria. 

With no choice but to try, Harry picked out the closest chained book and slowly opened it. He wanted for the protective spells to work, his mind playing back the last time he had done this without approval. 

No screaming faces appeared, and the book stayed perfectly content in his hands.

“Huh,” Harry murmured, “guess I do register as an adult, then.”

He had suspected as much since that meeting with Healer Johnson. His magic was exactly the same as it had been in his time, after all. 

Harry considered if he should look for the Trace. It automatically broke when someone reached adulthood, registering the change that occurred in one’s magic. Harry had already dropped the Trace in his own time, and he wondered if his fully developed magic being stuffed into Nathan’s body somehow circumvented the Trace on the boy.

It was worth looking into. Being able to perform underage magic without the Ministry cracking down on him would be good.

Shaking his head, Harry replaced the book and began searching in earnest. 

“Time travel, time travel, time travel…” He mouthed, flitting through the books without a clue where to start. “There we are.” He stopped when his eyes spotted _The Essence of Time_. Next to it where twelve similar books, ranging from _Time Turners and Their Limits_ to _Time and Space and How to Understand It._

Harry took them all and found the most secluded spot in the library that he could. He set up a number of charms and simple wards to discourage people from approaching, and tugged a notebook, quill and inkwell from his bag.

With everything prepared, Harry sat down to start reading. He pulled _The Essence of Time_ to him, but paused when he saw the little blue book sitting there so innocuously. He nibbled at his lip.

Unbidden, his hands grabbed it and flipped through the book until he came across the first page of the story he needed. The page before it was illustrated with the title and three human skulls drawn in unnecessary detail. On the forehead of one, was the symbol now branded onto his hip.

Harry swallowed at the sight of it.

“‘There once were three brothers who were travelling along a lonely winding road at twilight.’” He read softly, and in his ear he swore he could hear Hermione’s gentle voice beating in time with his as he went through the lines.

“‘But Death was cunning.’” Harry took in the pictures etched on the thick, aged parchment.

The image of Death was chilling. It looked not like a skeleton, or a hooded figure, like many muggle iterations showed. It was like smoke, thick and heavy, with a darker figure depicted in the centre. The drawing swirled on the page, and Harry had to tear his eyes away from it. Sweat trailed along his neck.

He followed the tale of the brothers. One too drunk on power to care for consequences, one overcome with a desire to humiliate and ridicule, and one wise enough to understand the danger of what they were given.

“‘…and there he greeted Death as an old friend, and went with him gladly. And equals, they departed this life.’”

Harry took a shaky breath, unnerved. On the last page was a more intensely designed version of the Deathly Hallows symbol, looking Celtic with the twisting knots and thick, intricate lines.

He ran his fingers over it.

Antioch. Cadmus. Ignotus. The wand. The stone. The cloak. 

He slammed the book closed, chest heaving.

Harry shoved the book across the desk violently, wanting it far away from him in that moment.

He had not thought back to that night, that moment, in a long time. He had put it in the past, and ignored what his actions could have brought on him.

He slumped on the desk, cradling his head. “It’s just a stupid story.” He spat. “He killed the horcrux. Not me. That’s why I came back. It wasn’t me.”

But still…the smoky figure…

_A hand snagged at his collar, and blindly Harry lashed out, stirring through something that felt more like heavy smoke than a body._

It looked just the same.

_It was a mass of utter darkness, shape indiscernible, and Harry choked because suddenly there was no air to breathe._

_“Harry.” It whispered again, voice falling somewhere between reverent and mocking._

He shivered, fingers winding around the pile of other books, and dragged them closer to him.

Harry pushed the memory of that crooning voice away and picked up the first book on the stack. If he was going to skip his lessons today, he at least wanted something to show for it.

# OoO

Simon looked around the potions classroom with boredom, eyes blinking tiredly.

Slughorn was up the front, shuffling through papers and the roll as he prepared for the lesson. The man was a strange one, what with his tendency to _collect_ students like trophies, and ignore anyone who was not well above average.

Simon hated Slughorn for that attitude, mainly because he had never been able to make the cut and impress the man. 

The only thing that soothed the balm of that was that Nathan had never gained Slughorn’s interest either – and his brother was in the man’s damn House.

 _No,_ his mind snarled, _not my brother. He’s not my brother._

Spurred by the savage thought, Simon glanced over at the Slytherin side of the room, looking for the painfully familiar form of Nathan.

He blinked when he saw the empty back desk.

Simon knew that Nathan had never been close with his housemates, especially not after _that_ got out, but he had never missed a class before.

He sat straighter, mind twisting over what this meant.

Last night had been spectacular, because it was the first time since he had woken up that Simon had seen Nathan falter in that stubborn confidence he had somehow developed while in his coma. The other had looked downright shocked to be on the receiving end of so much disgust, and Simon had enjoyed every moment of it.

Now though…

He knew that in the past, Nathan would become withdrawn whenever the bullying got too hard for him, but skipping a class? That was different. That was noticeable in a way Nathan did not like being.

 _Did something happen in the common room?_ He wondered with a light frown. _Did they do something to him after he left the hall?_ There were quite a few hours between when Nathan had retreated from dinner, and this morning. That was a long time where something could have happened.

 _He wasn’t at breakfast either, now that I think about it._

Simon shook his head and looked forward, angry. _Stop it. He’s not my problem anymore. What do I care if they did something to him? Nathan is like a cockroach. He just keeps coming back._

But try as he might, Simon’s eyes could not stay away from the other side of the room. He looked to the Slytherins themselves, to see if he could glean what had happened from them.

Only Lestrange seemed to be really aware of their missing housemate. The tall boy kept glancing over his shoulder to the back desk occasionally. Each time the dark glint in his eyes burned deeper. He looked one step away from furious.

Simon winced at the expression. Lestrange was, in his opinion, absolutely terrifying. The only person who seemed capable of even managing to keep the other under control was Orion Black, and everyone knew that kid was a few chess pieces short of a full set.

He quickly looked away before the taller boy spotted him, eyes darting to the person in front of Lestrange.

Tom Riddle was fair more interesting than anyone else in the room anyway.

Simon could admit that a part of him admired the other boy, despite his blood status. Riddle was the type of person that without explicitly knowing he was not a pureblood, you would not be able to tell otherwise.

There was just something so incredibly forceful about Riddle that drew attention, and charmed whoever he turned his focus on.

It had initially irritated him last night, when he saw Nathan being invited into Riddle and Black’s circle. His brother was _hardly_ worthy of being in their company.

But Carrow’s timely interruption had effectively driven Nathan back from the idea.

“Now, attention please class.”

Simon turned back to Slughorn, who was slipping his glasses onto his nose and unravelling the roll.

The man made his way down the names with a pace that was unnecessarily slow. 

“Nathan Ciro?”

No one spoke up. 

Simon bit his lip and glanced back over at the Slytherin side, just as everyone did.

“Mr. Ciro?” Slughorn raised his eyes as well, but rather than searching the room, he looked directly at Riddle. 

The boy smiled, “I’m afraid he was not feeling well this morning professor.”

Slughorn nodded, “Ah, very well then. Thank you, Tom. Someone be sure to let Mr. Ciro know what the homework is for today.”

And there was the negligent behaviour they all knew. Not even assigning a specific student to the task, just assuming someone would eventually do it.

The Slytherins all agreed obediently, but Simon doubted any of them would actually pass the information on.

“Simon Ciro?” 

“Here, sir.”

Simon was about to look away, when the oddest thing happened.

Once the class’ attention was firmly back on Slughorn, Riddle turned around to trade a look with Lestrange. The two boy stared at each other, before Lestrange shook his head.

A slight frown came to Riddle’s face, his eyes narrowing just slightly as his gaze shifted to the empty back desk.

He looked annoyed, but only for a beat, before he too was facing forward.

Simon hummed to himself, intrigued. So Riddle must have been lying about Nathan’s wellbeing. And if that look had been anything to go by, neither Riddle nor Lestrange actually knew where Nathan had scurried off to.

_Interesting. But Riddle hates Nathan. Why would he cover for him?_

Simon finally pulled his full focus back to the blackboard once Slughorn had finished with the roll. He listened with half an ear as the professor told them of the potion they would be evaluating today.

He wrinkled his nose in distaste. He hated the Polyjuice Potion.

“Now, of course we shan’t be making this potion for assessment, due to its incredibly advanced nature.” Slughorn explained with a polite chuckle. “But it never hurts to know and understand just how these high level potions are created, and what their purpose is.”

The man turned to the blackboard and began writing. “If you all turn to page 42 of your textbooks, there will be a passage about the effect of the Polyjuice Potion.”

Simon opened his textbook and started reading, ignoring the persistent echo in the back of his mind.

# OoO

Harry left the library with a heavy head and pounding temples.

He was no stranger to long nights parked at his desk, because sometimes being an auror meant writing reports more than catching criminals, but this was something different.

Nathan’s body, while becoming gradually stronger thanks to his exercise, was still rather scrawny, with more limits than Harry was used to.

He was also a growing child, meaning that his body protested a lot earlier than Harry anticipated. He had forgotten just how exhausting it could be to be a teenager at school.

Harry sighed, rubbing at his face as he stopped next to a window. It was late afternoon. He had missed an entire day of classes, and he had next to nothing to show for it.

Because _apparently_ time travel of this magnitude was impossible, and if it ever was successful, would be horribly unstable. Words like 'ceasing to exist', and 'loops', and 'alternate timelines' were in abundance.

“Thanks for those comforting pieces of information.” Harry grumbled. Being told his situation was impossible did nothing to help since _clearly_ it was if he was here.

One thing all the books had stressed though was not altering the timeline, which Harry had already decided against. He knew the consequences, but having them listed in front of his eyes was a good reinforcement. The last thing he wanted was to accidently cause the people he cared about to never be born.

Harry blew out a loud breath and leaned against the wall, massaging his growing migraine.

He knew he needed to head back to the common room soon, or else swing by the kitchen to get some dinner so he would not have to spend it with his lovely housemates again.

 _And I do need to go to class tomorrow._ Harry scrunched his face up at the thought of attending lessons. He would already know most of the answers, since not only had he done this year before, but he was also a stand-in professor.

He just knew it would be painfully boring for him in class.

Repeating school was like one of those abstract stories some muggle movies liked to joke about, or that nightmare Ron sometimes claimed to have.

Harry felt his lips twitch upwards at the thought of his best friend.

He missed them all terribly, and last night had made the ache sharper than it had been before.

Harry sighed once more, deciding to head to the kitchen since he had skipped both breakfast and lunch. His stomach was rebelling, but at least the house-elves would happily prepare something for him.

Plus he loved the atmosphere of the kitchen, the buzz of magic, the pans and utensils whizzing about the air, and the tantalising smells. It was all so mesmerising. 

Later, stomach pleasantly full and mind fuzzy, he stumbled back into the common room. Nobody really looked up as he entered, save a few. Of those that bothered, most glared.

If Harry was inclined to care about their opinions of him, he might have done something about it. As it was, he was much more interested in heading to bed.

“Ciro!” 

Or not.

He tilted in the direction of the voice, his response to the name thankfully becoming faster. 

Orion waved at him from where he was sitting surrounded by boys their age. And Riddle. Fantastic.

Harry groaned quietly but made his way towards them. “Orion, hey.” The younger boy tugged on his arm, wordlessly pulling him down to sit next to him. On the boy’s other side, Gus watched carefully.

“Where have you been young man?” Orion asked, though the voice he put on made it more humorous than demanding. Harry swallowed the urge to smirk.

“Out. Why?”

Orion shoved him, “Uh, because I’ve just heard from the others that you were nowhere to be found today during class. People were saying you were sick, and yet here you are, perfectly fine.”

Harry nodded along, mildly surprised about the lie of being unwell. It was a good excuse, except that meant that if word got back to Benedict and Cynthia, they might do something out of concern.

“Well?” Orion prompted.

Harry shrugged, “I was feeling a little under the weather, but I was fine towards the afternoon.” He looked at the books around them and swiftly changed the subject. “What are you working on?”

Orion looked at him, unimpressed, but answered anyway. “Transfiguration homework. The others are doing their potions stuff.”

“Oh, nice.” Harry leaned forward, reading over the younger boy’s questions. “Animagi, huh? Are you interested in them in particular, or was this assigned?”

Orion squinted at him in confusion. “Both. We have to write an essay on the benefits and affects of a type of transfiguration. I chose this.”

Harry nodded. “Well that’s pretty easy. There are heaps of benefits to being an Animagi.”

The younger boy cocked his head, and he looked to be humouring him. “Oh?”

Harry narrowed his eyes, not appreciating the sarcasm. _I’m smarter than you by a long shot, kid,_ he thought testily, _and I’m not afraid to prove it._

“Sure.” He answered, and a smug grin pulled at the corners of his mouth. “As an Animagus your emotions are not as complex, so while you retain all of your mental facilities, you are not as prone to emotional outbursts. Very helpful against something like, say, Dementors, which directly affect someone’s emotions. Being able to think clearly without being dragged down by the sense of hopelessness and cold is pretty important.”

He carried on when Orion’s eyes flickered with something like shock.

“And whatever animal you transform into can sometimes influence how you act as a human, which can be both useful and dangerous, I guess. A dog Animagus might be unfailingly loyal to the ones they love, or a wolverine Animagus might exhibit aggressive tendencies.” He paused, remembering a particularly vicious unregistered witch who loved attacking in her wolverine form. Two of the aurors with Harry that day had been critically injured and had spent months recovering.

He blinked and came back to himself, adding one last piece of information. “It’s also possible to forcibly turn an Animagus back to their human form.”

One of the boys off to the side snorted loudly, and Harry turned to him, a little surprised to find the entire group watching him. The boy sneered at him. “There is no way to turn an Animagus back unless they wilfully do it.” He said, sounding too confident.

Harry raised an eyebrow at him. “Sure there is,” he told him. “the Homorphus Charm.”

“The what?” The boy asked, forehead creasing and face showing just how insane he thought Harry was right now.

Harry twitched, looking down and thinking frantically. _How do they not know about it? It was a revolutionary development in countering Animagus transformations._ He wanted to shift uncomfortably. _Oh God, has it not been invented yet? Shit. Why did I even open my mouth?_

He cleared his throat, excruciatingly aware of their eyes on him. “You know what, never mind. Clearly I don’t know what I’m talking about.” He turned back to Orion. “But that stuff before, about the emotion and traits crossing over is definitely true.”

“Thank you.” The younger boy said, making no move whatsoever to reach for his work or take his eyes off of Harry. 

Harry looked away from that stare, eyes coming to rest on Riddle without even meaning to. 

The other boy had a roll of parchment spread out on a polished wooden lap desk, balanced perfectly on his crossed knee.

Riddle was writing, but Harry knew that he was paying attention to what they were saying.

He nibbled on the inside of his bottom lip as he stared at the young Dark Lord.

He looked so normal, and even with the small amount of time he had spent here, Harry was almost accustomed to the sight of Riddle already.

The main odd thing was just how painfully young Riddle was right now. He did not look like a particularly evil or vicious individual. In fact, if Harry did not know any better, he would think he was just a regular, albeit smart, student.

But he was not. And Harry had to remember that even at the tender age of fourteen, Tom Riddle was dangerous.

Still. Watching him do something as ordinary as homework was as fascinating as it was unsettling. 

_Shouldn’t you be plotting murder?_

“Do I have something on my face?”

Harry blinked, “Huh?”

Riddle glanced up at him, expression mocking. “You’re staring awfully hard.”

The boys around them snickered, and the undercurrents of cruelty had Harry’s lips thinning. “Am I making you uncomfortable?” He asked, almost demanding in his tone.

“Not at all.” Riddle replied swiftly.

“Then what’s the problem?” Harry smiled, teeth kept firmly behind his lips.

Riddle returned the gesture. “No problem. Just curious." He stopped, and out of nowhere he held out a handful of loose pieces of parchment. "Here.”

Thrown at the sudden change of topic, Harry stared blankly at the paper. He hesitated to touch them, his brief time as Nathan strengthening his already heightened vigilance. “What is it?”

If Riddle was offended at being left hanging, he showed no sign of it. The boy merely watched him with those inquisitive eyes. “Your assigned classwork. I made sure to get it all for you. Can’t have you falling behind even further.”

Harry strangled back the biting comment he wanted to make at that. Slowly he reached out, and just before he touched the parchment, he sent a wave of delicate magic over them, probing for curses or anything remotely dangerous.

They were clean.

“Thanks.” 

Harry took the offered pages and leafed through them, taking in the questions and assignments with disinterest. He only just caught the glance Riddle shared with Orion and Gus. Harry’s attention snapped back to them. “What?” He asked, lowering the homework.

Orion smiled sunnily at him, “Nothing.” He patted Harry’s shoulder. “Would you like some help with your homework, Ciro?”

Harry returned his focus to the neatly written words and shook his head. “No, that’s alright, I’ll be fine.”

Orion’s hand lifted away from his arm. “Are you sure? It would only be fair. And you might have some…gaps.”

_Which is a nice way of telling me my brain is broken._

Harry smiled brighter, but his eyes were sharp. “I’m sure I can manage, Orion. Thank you, though.” _It’s not like I haven’t done all of this already._

“I’m heading up now. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“And will you actually be attending class, Ciro?” One of the boys he did not know asked, and Harry had trouble picking if he was more against the idea of him being in class, or skipping.

“Oh, definitely.” Harry assured him, unable to keep the amusement off his face. “I can’t wait to learn all this _very important information._ Have a good night, kids.” He ended with a quiet snort and a half-hearted flap of his papers.

He made for his room, pausing only slightly at the door and scanning the interior for any signs of tampering or unwanted visitors. The chill from last night crept up his spine again, reminding him of the there-but-not presence he had felt.

“You’re losing it, Potter.” He muttered, closing the door firmly behind him and feeling the wards gently reform around him.

He chucked the pile of paper onto his desk and rubbed at his face. “Now the question is, do I suddenly become a genius, or dumb it down?”

Harry tossed a glance at the homework Riddle had gathered for him. And was that not a disturbing thought.

_Why would he even bother? It’s not like he and Nathan were close. And I sure as hell haven’t given him a reason to play the friend card._

What did Riddle think he would even gain from associating with him?

He ruffled through the paper absently, deciding to ignore Riddle and his confusing actions. He doubted he would be able to figure out what the murderer-to-be wanted right now anyway. Riddle’s mind was like a bag of cats. 

He had more important things to consider.

_Nathan was only barely above average. Everyone would get suspicious if he suddenly started topping every class. Then again, do I really want to spend however long I’m here writing mind-numbingly boring pieces of assessment?_

Harry scratched at his chin, missing the faint stubble that usually cropped up every couple of days. 

“It’s not worth it.” He eventually decided with a sigh. “Mediocre, here I come.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And you finally have some answers to certain questions. Most of you had already guessed what symbol it was so kudos for all you smart cookies haha~


	8. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! So, so, so sorry about the wait for this one. But it's finally here? So yay?
> 
> To clarify: _This fic is not abandoned._ And if I ever did abandon it (not likely to happen!) I would put up a notice of it, okay?
> 
> That being said, ybtm(ibty) isn't a 'priority story' I guess you could call it. I don't even have a concrete plot hammered out for this one. Like, I know where I want it to go, but getting there is going to take a while for me to figure out. So thank you all for being so patient with me, and I ask that you hold out a little longer!
> 
> Anyway, onwards!

Harry slowed to a jog as he came up around the final bend of his trek. To his right, the Forbidden Forest stretched out as far as his eyes could see. To his left, Hogwarts dominated the skyline. And in front of him, the Black Lake starkly resembled a puddle of ink staining the landscape.

His hands were clasped behind his head as he walked the last few metres to the top of the hill, trying to get rid of the stitch gnawing at his gut. His eyes were closed and his breathing was as steady as he could make it.

The sun had yet to crest the hills, but the first few rays were already lightening the sky to a pale grey. It was a beautiful, if chilly, morning.

Harry stared out at the Black Lake, watching the way the water moved and stirred in the early breeze.

There was, he knew, far more going on beneath the tranquil looking surface than meets the eye.

Everyone knew of the Giant Squid that lived in the lake, and some students were lucky to occasionally catch a glimpse of one of the elusive merpeople - whenever they were curious enough to taste the air, that is.

But Harry was one of the few individuals that had been into the lake, deep, _deep down_ where the light had trouble reaching and the water choked you with the weight of its presence.

Harry had never been particularly afraid of water before, but the Second Task had opened a door for dreams of drowning to creep in on him. Forcing him to wake up covered in sweat and for a few endless moments, believing he was still in that darkness, with the water pressing in on him, down his throat, no Gillyweed to save him and no one coming to rescue him -

That was fine, though. Compared to the usual demons that plagued him, drowning was almost preferable.

His side twinged, and Harry’s face fell into a scowl. His eyes slid away from the picturesque scene before him to bore a hole through his shirt where the mark sat. “Shut up.” He hissed at it, despite how ridiculous he knew it was.

The mark had been acting up all through the night, alternating between sending stabbing pain through his body - like a hot knife, slicing through the skin and muscle and bone like butter, twisting his insides and boiling his blood - or buzzing with, for a lack of a better word, _fondness._

It was irritating and, frankly, terrifying, because sometimes Harry felt completely fine; but then his whole side flared and it was like his head was clogged and his throat was barely holding back a scream.

He wanted so desperately to understand what was happening, but he had seen what desperation drove people to and he had no interest in joining that long list of victims. He would just have to be patient and plough his way through the research at his own pace.

Harry slowly dropped his arms and sighed, lowering himself into a comfortable squat. He had to get back to the common room before the morning truly kicked off and he missed breakfast.

Today would officially be his first day back at school. He had gotten lucky yesterday with ditching, but the professors’ sympathy for his situation would quickly run out if he was constantly dodging his classes or homework. 

He should definitely head back.

He just…really, really did not want to.

It was not so much the prospect of being a student that had Harry malcontent. He had always loved Hogwarts, and no matter what his friends said, he did enjoy learning.

It was more to do with the fact that this was not _his Hogwarts._ There would be no late nights spent in the Gryffindor common room talking with Ron and Hermione. There would be no friendly faces walking passed him in the hallways. There would be no secret smiles shared with Ginny from across the table.

Instead he was trapped with a bunch of his future enemies, getting an unwanted, unnecessary front row seat to Tom Riddle’s descent into darkness. 

Just the thought of his painfully young adversary flooded him with confusion and uncertainty. 

Harry knew Riddle’s life story forwards, backwards, upside down and every other way one could possibly conceive. He had trudged through years of memories surrounding the other, had tasted his emotions and almost been crushed under the sheer vastness of the Dark Lord’s mind.

He knew what Riddle would become, like a witness to a slow-motion car crash, seeing every fold of metal and splintered piece chip away, knowing the outcome but utterly, horribly fascinated at what was unfurling before his eyes anyway.

It was inevitable.

Harry knew that. He had already accepted that he would not be _interfering_ with Riddle’s life any more than he absolutely had to. There was no telling the magnitude of damage he could inflict on the future, and it was that knowledge, of potentially destroying what he was trying to get back to, that kept him in check.

But it was surprisingly easy for Harry to keep those thoughts suppressed. Far easier than it should be, all things considered.

Maybe he was finally growing up? Hermione would be so proud.

His small grin dimmed, before disappearing altogether.

Harry sighed, the air heaving its way out of his chest and into the cold air. 

He pushed himself back to his feet, swaying a little as his blood rushed. His sweat was cooling rapidly, and the sharp drop in adrenaline had him wincing. He really needed to get back to the dungeon before he accidentally fell asleep out here.

Harry made his way towards the castle, feet beginning to throb in time with his heart beat.

Eventually though, the rough path melted into smooth cobblestone, and Harry quickened his pace, eager to have a shower.

The silence that engulfed the castle was ancient, every noise echoing down the hallowed hallways. It should have made him feel small, but all it did was draw Harry in, surround him and make him feel like he was as much a part of Hogwarts as the stones that formed it.

He used one the first labyrinthian shortcuts he came across, navigating his way by memory. 

His legs were beginning to protest in earnest now, and he was vaguely tempted to keep going down the narrow passageway and just slip directly into the common room. 

But his rationale side smacked that idea down before it could take root. It was early, but there was always the chance that other students were up and about. These secret passageways were an ace up his sleeve right now, one he was not willing to lose.

Collapsing a section of the Slytherin common room wall that was not supposed to be able to move would just cause a panic.

So Harry did the right thing and exited the hidden corridor two turns away from the common room.

The dungeons were deserted, the candles lining the walls only providing the barest amount of light with which to see. As Harry walked the flames grew brighter, illuminating more of the freezing hallway.

Harry stuffed his hands deeper into the pockets of his pants, clenching and unclenching his fingers in a vain attempt to get the blood flowing properly.

He mumbled the password at the door and waited impatiently for it to shift out of his way.

The warm air that cascaded over him was euphoretic, and he darted inside. The room was still and quiet, for all intents and purposes completely empty.

But his instincts prickled, and Harry followed the pull until his eyes landed on figure reclining on one of the lounges closest to the fireplace. 

For a second, his lungs constricted, his breath punching out of him and drawing the boy’s attention from the open book in his lap.

Harry swallowed the name on the tip of his tongue, because while the resemblance was uncanny and painful to behold, the eyes were the wrong colour. More silver than either of his descendants. 

But the blond hair, and the delicate features, and the way his chin tilted just enough to convey curiosity and contempt in equal measures was too much for him.

Harry wrenched his eyes away from the other, head lowering and eyes squeezing shut.

Tears stung his eyes, and he could almost hear his friend’s haughty voice mocking him for _crying._

 _I’m even missing Draco,_ he thought with biting amusement, _clearly things have become desperate._

“Ciro. I had heard that you’d crawled your way back into Hogwarts.”

God, they even sounded similar. Right down to the way they paced their words, and the underlining cultured tone that made everything falling from their mouths sound like rich honey.

Harry cleared his throat, lips pulling into what he hoped was a smile - but from the traces of a sneer being aimed at him, he suspected he failed.

“Sorry,” he said, “who are you?” It was a genuine question. He was sure Draco had run Harry through his family line at least once, but Harry had trouble remembering his own family tree, let alone one as intermixed and twisted as the Malfoy’s.

The real question though, was if this boy was Draco’s grandfather.

His harmless inquiry only seemed to agitate the other, for he frowned and snapped his book shut in distaste. “As if you are even worthy of addressing me.” He said cuttingly.

Harry blinked, then shifted his gaze to the side. He wondered how rude it would be if he just went to his room. 

He wondered why he even cared.

“Well, alright. I’ll just leave you then.” He told him slowly, body half turning to face the stairs leading to the dorm rooms. But the moment he faced them fully, he stopped short once again.

Riddle’s eyes darted from Harry to Malfoy. He was dressed, his uniform painting the picture of the perfect student. Neat, hardly a crinkle to be seen, tie knotted precisely at his collar. Even his hair was impeccably done.

Not even Malfoy was dressed for the day, because it was _not even six in the morning_ \- but of course, _of course_ Tom Riddle was a morning person. Of course he got up at a reasonable time, and was ready to go well before he needed to be anywhere.

Just another addition to his long list of sins.

Harry hunched his shoulders and glowered at the Slytherin. Riddle, unflappable prick that he was, merely raised a questioning eyebrow before descending the rest of the way and gliding into the common room.

“Abraxas, welcome back.” He said, but the lack of warmth in his tone turned the pleasant greeting into something bland and uninterested. He completely ignored Harry as he brushed by him.

Abraxas - Harry internally winced at that, forever glad his parents had been merciful when naming him - sniffed, his gaze dismissing Harry and moving to Riddle. “Thank you, Tom. It’s good to see you.”

Harry used the distraction to start making his way to the safety of his room; but like a spider feeling the vibrations in its web, Riddle’s head swivelled to pin him in place. The boy’s eyes scanned him, finally coming to a rest on Harry’s face. 

“What were you doing?” Riddle asked, then, before Harry could answer, “What are you wearing?”

Harry looked down at himself, taking in the plain long pants and simple shirt he had on. He looked back to Riddle, confused. “I went for a run.” 

Riddle’s eyes widened just slightly, his eyebrows shooting upwards in unmasked surprise. Behind him, Abraxas snorted, and scathingly asked, “You can run?”

Harry’s lip curled in a faint snarl before he calmed himself. He refrained from commenting, taking his bubbling emotions and forcing them down.

They burned like acid.

“And why, pray tell, were you running, Ciro?” Riddle asked, sounding intrigued, but Harry could read the scepticism all over him.

He smiled blandly, “Because Riddle, shockingly enough, waking up in a body that’s done nothing more than lay in a bed for three months has negative impacts on one’s health.”

Irritation - sweet and deadly - zipped through Riddle’s eyes, and Harry eagerly chased it with his own, savouring the reaction.

This younger Riddle was far easier to read then his older self, still fresh and soft in many ways. It was an exhilarating experience, being the one holding the power between them.

Harry had briefly thought on it before, but watching Riddle as he was now really rammed home the fact that he still had a long way to go before he became the vicious creature Harry had defeated.

The difference between their levels had been gaping and disgustingly obvious, back in Harry’s youth. Voldemort had always been so much more in terms of strength and knowledge - an adult, hardened and cruel. Whereas Harry spent most of their encounters bumbling his way through by the skin of his teeth - uncertain and scared and _a child._

But now their places were reversed. Now it was _Harry_ who looked down at Riddle and viewed him as a boy. It was _Harry_ who had the advantage. It was _Harry_ who knew more, and had experienced more, and _was more._

The revelation was as delicious as it was unsettling. 

Unexpectedly, the mark on his hip started itching, and Harry automatically slapped his hand over the point. Riddle’s gaze dropped to follow the movement, and Harry was not up to fielding anymore questions.

He spun on his heels and quickly sped up the stairs, trying not to look too much like he was fleeing.

He needed a shower to clear his head.

# OoO

Harry had miscalculated. 

Badly.

He had thought he would be able to handle having familiar people thrown in his face. Abraxas had been a surprise simply because Harry had not been expecting him to pop in out of nowhere. But the ones Harry _knew_ he would encounter? He thought he would be fine. He had been fine with Slughorn.

But that was a lie.

He watched, heart caught between a distressing amount of sorrow and soul-crushing happiness, as Dumbledore explained the easiest way to preform cross-species switches.

It had been years since Harry had seen his old Headmaster, and having him in front of him now - with _red hair_ \- felt like a hand reaching into his chest and squeezing.

But the almost welcome reunion was soured by the kernel of betrayal that had steadily been nurtured in Harry’s core.

Because this was the man that would one day orchestrate Harry’s entire life. The one that would force him to grow up in a loveless environment, purely to mould Harry into someone that craved approval. The one that had no qualms about sending children to fight his battles for him.

The one that could read minds, and had likely done so to Harry for years.

Harry kept his head lowered, eyes fixed on the blank parchment in front of him, as Dumbledore once again swept passed him. 

Other than the initial _welcome back_ and _if you need help just ask_ speech, Dumbledore had studiously avoided so much as glancing in Harry’s direction.

It was an odd change of pace, considering how closely Dumbledore had entwined himself in Harry’s life before.

But maybe that was just because now Harry did not have some predestined role as a sacrificial lamb hanging over his head, and was therefore not important in the man’s mind. Or perhaps it was because his tie was green this time?

Or – maybe it was because of his bench-mate. 

Next to him, Riddle was diligently taking notes, his quill sailing over his paper. Harry was tempted to ask why he was even bothering – because as if the other was not already two years ahead in terms of curriculum at this point.

“Mr. Ciro?” Harry tilted his head back to the front, where Dumbledore was frowning lightly at him. 

So now he was finally paying attention to him.

“Sir?” Beside him, Riddle’s writing slowed down a touch, signalling that his focus had shifted the moment Dumbledore had addressed him.

“You’ve not written anything. Are you having trouble keeping up?”

A spark of annoyance flared to life low in his gut. The temptation to specify that it was less _inability,_ and more _boredom_ that had him sitting still, was increasingly strong. 

But running his mouth had never been particularly helpful to Harry when it came to his professors. 

Instead, he ducked his head lower and willed his face to blush. It was decidedly cruel of the older wizard to do this, in hindsight. It was mortifying and confidence-destroying for a struggling student to be called out. Drawing everyone’s attention to the fact was just like adding salt to a wound.

These were Nathan’s peers, and anyone - especially a genius like Dumbledore - would know how damaging that could be for him. 

Harry had no doubt that if he had been a Gryffindor, Dumbledore would have quietly approached him and inquired after his wellbeing privately.

Blatant favouritism from teachers had always pissed him off - Snape, and even McGonagall, both equally guilty - and experiencing it now, as an adult and far more aware then he was as a student, left the back of his mouth tainted with disgust. 

Harry lifted his lips in an embarrassed, pitiful smile and hunched his shoulder, rebelling against his natural instinct to bare his teeth. 

For some reason it was so much harder to stand there and not defend himself against the man. Not even Riddle had inspired such a desire to fight in him; and arguably, it was by Voldemort’s hands that Harry had suffered more from.

But maybe that was it exactly. Harry had never viewed Voldemort as his ally. He had never placed his utmost faith in the Dark Lord, and barring his experience with Riddle’s diary horcrux, Harry had never remotely trusted Voldemort.

Dumbledore, though? Dumbledore had held Harry’s unwavering loyalty from the very first moment. Harry had _trusted_ him, had believed that the man knew best, all the while he was _planning his murder._

Harry did not care about the ‘Greater Good’ Dumbledore so steadfastly clutched at. A betrayal was a betrayal, and Harry was not a naturally forgiving person. Oh, he could be reasoned with, and he was capable of putting his opinions to the side. But those that stabbed him in the back tended to feel his wrath sooner or later.

“I’m sure I’ll be fine, Professor.” He mumbled, and it was such a weak assurance, something any student not willing to draw notice to their failures would say. Yet, Dumbledore simply nodded and carried on.

Harry let his disbelief at the lack of reaction crash into him and cascade down his back.

“Do you want help?” Riddle asked, casual as you please.

Harry’s eyes slid away from Dumbledore’s eye-searing robes and glanced at the boy. “What?”

Riddle inclined his chin at Harry’s still unmarked parchment. “I’d be happy to explain the concept if it’s too hard.”

The offer, genuine on the surface but no doubt mocking underneath, had Harry scoffing. He looked away in disinterest. “Thanks but no thanks, Riddle. Like I told the professor, I’ll be fine.”

Of course he would be. He had already study all of this before, despite his own fourth year being slightly more harrowing than this. Nothing the professors gave him would be too much for him to handle.

“If you’re sure.” Riddle replied, his smile polite, eyes cold. “We’re housemates after all, we have to look out for each other.”

And those words, God, they had Harry’s magic fluttering as his rage ticked over.

The inkwell on his desk rocked violently and spilled the dark liquid all across his desk. Harry kept his eyes trained on Riddle, even as the girl sitting at the next desk over let out a small yelp at the mess.

All he could think about was how empty Nathan had felt, how alone and sad the boy must have been. How the only way he found to escape from everything was to _jump off a building._

Harry leaned into Riddle’s space, his magic buzzing in the air between them, a warning and a promise. “Don’t act like you give a shit about anyone but yourself, Riddle. You think I would even _want_ your help if I needed it, after everything you and your House have done? Why don’t you tell me why I woke up in the hospital after a _suicide attempt.”_

The clock on the wall hit the hour, and Harry shot to his feet, bag slung over his shoulder and hand absently waving to clear away the ink stains. He stared down at Riddle contemptuously. 

“If that’s where you ‘looking out for me’ leads, forgive me if I’m a little apprehensive.”

# OoO

Tom licked his bottom lip in consideration as Ciro all but marched to the exit of the classroom and disappeared into the throng of students.

He wanted to say the other was running, but the way his hands had been clenched hard enough to make his knuckles white told Tom it was more like Ciro was removing himself for both their sakes. 

Which was odd, but not more so than his reaction to Tom’s offer of assistance. 

If it had not been apparent since his return, it was certainly solidified in Tom’s mind now. 

Ciro was dangerous. 

It was not a thought he had ever believed he would have, but the proof was undeniably playing out in front of him to peruse. 

Before, if Tom had ever accidentally let his eyes land on Ciro for any significant amount of time, the timid boy would shrivel and hide. 

Now, he almost seemed to dare Tom to look at him.

It was…interesting. And more than a little mysterious. 

Could losing all your memories so drastically change a person, as it seemed to have with Ciro? Did it somehow transform who you were at your core?

Because Tom knew that Nathan Ciro had never possessed such fire before his clumsy attempt to kill himself. He had been weak and inferior. He had never provoked anyone, and he had definitely never stared Tom in the eyes and challenged him.

But looking into Ciro’s grey eyes now, it was like there was a predator gazing back, lurking just behind a flimsy veil of protection. It reminded Tom eerily of the old cat that prowled around the orphanage’s garden sometimes, watching the children run around with unconcealed disdain; like they were so far below it they did not even register as potential threats.

Yes. Ciro certainly held some resemblance to that vicious, feral creature.

It was unnerving, if only because it was _wrong._

It went against everything Ciro was - who he had been for years - and no matter how Tom tried to buck against the urge, he could feel his mind already hooking into this new puzzle.

It had been so long since something fascinating had happened, and he was bored.

He supposed Orion had had the right idea in approaching and claiming Ciro. There was something more going on with him than amnesia, and Tom was on the precipice of wanting to find out.

Unfortunately, he had already given Orion his permission to play with Ciro, and taking the other’s toy away from him so soon would be distasteful and rude.

Tom began to pack up his equipment leisurely, because as much as he wished to chase down Ciro and continue to observe all of his new little traits, he knew there was no need to hurry. They had double Defence next, and Tom was confident Merrythought would keep to her habit of putting high achieving students with the lower ones.

Ciro had been mediocre at Defence, but his months away would prompt Merrythought to pair him with the top of the class. A position which Tom held greedily. 

He would have plenty of time to begin his recategorisation of Ciro over the next few days.

He slid his bag strap over his head, eyes already drifting to where Lestrange was waiting for him by the door. 

“Ah, Tom, may I speak with you?”

Safely facing away from the vexing man, Tom let his scorn bloom into existence. He gestured at Lestrange - no more than two fingers flicking out - and the other slipped from the room, leaving the two of them behind.

Tom pivoted, an insincere smile aimed at his most hated professor. “Sir? Is something the matter?”

Dumbledore did not even bother returning the attempt at civility. Tom wanted to gouge those sharp eyes out with his nails. 

“Yes, I believe you noticed Mr. Ciro’s lack of effort in today’s class.”

Tom’s eyelids drooped, his lips pursing in faux-commiseration. “I did, sir. But when I offered to help he turned me down.”

“Perhaps you should try harder, then.” Dumbledore suggested gently, “Letting one’s friends suffer needlessly is not appropriate behaviour.”

 _Perhaps you should finally crawl into a hole and die,_ he thought, content that his mental shields were too strong for Dumbledore to get anything substantial. 

Honestly, who did Dumbledore think he was kidding? They both knew Nathan Ciro had no friends - and if he did, Tom would never be one of them. 

If the man was trying to prod Tom in that direction by antagonising him, he was in for a sore surprise.

“I’ll take that under advisement.” He intoned glibly. “Was that all? Because my next lesson starts soon, sir.”

He could see the frustration in Dumbledore’s eyes, but the man dismissed him nonetheless, likely far too used to being rebuffed at every turn.

Tom left the room, his mood ruined as it always was whenever the old man stuck his nose into his business.

Lestrange was waiting for him, only the rapid tapping of his fingers against his forearm giving away his impatience. He straightened when Tom approached though, and fell into step with him when he started walking.

“What did he want?” Lestrange asked.

Tom grunted, eyes narrowed and focussed ahead of them. “To explain to me the importance of not letting my friends fall behind in their work.”

Lestrange cast him an amused smirk. “Ciro?”

“Ciro.” Tom confirmed. 

“The least he could have done was accept your offer. I watched him for most of the lesson. The little idiot never even touched his quill.” Lestrange rolled his eyes. “With that attitude, there’s no way he will catch up. Although,” a thoughtful expression pulled over his face. “if he fails his classes, that means we won’t have to deal with him next year. Maybe you should not help him after all.”

Tom’s lips twitched in response, though now that Lestrange mentioned it, he thought back to Ciro’s stationery, and remembered how suddenly his inkwell had tipped over.

The electric jolts he had felt running along his arms when that heavy presence had draped itself over them plagued him. It had been magic, raw and unfettered, and powerful. The way it had wound along his limbs, whispering danger and threats against his skin had left him breathless.

And it was yet another puzzle piece Tom was struggling to fit together. 

It had been the first time Tom had come into contact with Ciro’s pure magic, and it was like nothing he had ever experienced before.

That magic had been thick and rich, so cold it burned at Tom’s core. It had been _intent_ and _will_ and _bold_ in its emergence. Taunting. Teasing. Giving him a small glimpse of the thing behind Ciro’s mask, before snapping back to hide from his hungry curiosity. 

And then Ciro had fixed the mess, a flick of his wrist, his mouth never moving, and it had vanished.

Wandless. Nonverbal. Once again, demonstrating something he should not be able to do.

They rounded a corner, and both Tom and Lestrange stopped at the end of the hallway, eyes taking in the scene in front of them.

Ciro was sitting on the ground, the contents of his bag splayed out on the stone floor. Above him, three Gryffindors stood, all wearing smug expressions.

None of them had spotted their new audience.

As Tom watched, he saw one of Ciro’s hands come up from where it was bracing him and wipe at his mouth. The pale limb fell back, and Tom spotted the streaks of red marring his skin.

Lestrange stepped forward, either to disperse the situation before a professor discovered it, or to lend some help to the Gryffindors. Tom raised his hand and pressed it against Lestrange’s chest, halting the move.

The silent order was obeyed without question.

“Not so hot now, are you?” One of the three sneered.

Ciro, when he replied, sounded far more collected than Tom thought he should be. “Want me to show you what happened to the last person who touched me after I said no?”

A second boy brayed a laugh, “I wasn’t aware you even _could_ say ‘no’.” He spat, derisive and tactless in his insults. “I heard you usually _beg -”_

Quick as a snake, Ciro’s legs swung out in a wide arc, catching the boy by his ankles and bringing him to the ground brutally. In the same movement, he rolled and sprung to his feet.

Ciro brushed off his uniform, but the smudges of blood at the corner of his mouth painted him like an animal.

“Still want to do this, boys? I’ll give you one last chance to back out.”

For one moment, Tom actually believed that Ciro would _brawl_. The way his hands were raised, fists ready, seemed to hint at an oncoming fight.

However, the second the Gryffindors stepped closer, Ciro’s hands opened and pushed outwards. The hallway was drenched in a wave of magic - the same that had caught Tom’s attention earlier - and all three of them went flying back.

They collided with the wall, their bodies slapping loudly against the rough stones before they tumbled to the ground.

In the beat of silence that followed, Tom breathed out shakily. He could still taste that roiling energy in the air, and from the corner of his eye, he could see Lestrange too had been affected by the magic.

Ciro titled his head down at his three unsuccessful attacker, all of whom were still conscious and were now staring up at him in disbelief and no small amount of confusion.

“Scram.” 

They did.

Ciro shook his hand as the three ran away from him, clicking his tongue in disapproval. He turned to pick up his bag and shuffled his belongings back inside.

As he pushed himself to his feet, he finally saw them.

Ciro faltered, his annoyance melting into uncertainty. But not fear.

Tom felt his interest give way into something deeper.

Oh, he was going to have _so much fun._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? <3 <3 <3


	9. Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the wait for this guys. RL has been a bit of a shitstorm lately with a number of family stuff cropping up, plus I'm just finishing up my semester at uni so assessment has been breathing down my neck haha.
> 
> Thank you for all the lovely comments last chapter - I think we were over 100 just for that one, which is _huge._ Hope you all enjoy this update!

Harry knew he was being followed the moment he turned the first corner on his way to Defence. He could feel the tingle that raced down his spine – the way the hair on the back of his neck stood at attention – and did not know whether to roll his eyes in annoyance or hiss in frustration.

He was already unsteady from his little quarrel with Riddle, his stomach knotted and fingers tightly curled into a fist to stop his boiling magic. He did not want to deal with anyone else yet.

It was just…Those words – the kindness of the offer masking the callousness of Nathan’s housemates…

It made him so angry. 

What right did Riddle have to suddenly be willing to lend a hand, when before he had been content to let Nathan struggle? 

The hypocrisy and arrogance and –

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, coming to a stop and pinching at the bridge of his nose. He forced himself to calm his breathing and allow his magic to settle. Letting himself get out of control would do nothing except cause more problems. 

The prickling at the edge of his senses grew sharper, and Harry cracked his eyes open but made no move to lower his hand, effectively shielding most of his face from whoever it was watching him.

He was honestly growing tired of some of the students’ incessant need to bully him. It was childish, and petty, and he could feel his patience running thin. 

The entire mess was already trying enough – all the unknowns he was handling, all the questions and fears piling up in his mind, the stress nipping at his heels and the _damn symbol on his hip_ \- without having to deal with things like school and homework and the cruelty of children.

He did not particularly want to hurt anyone, especially a bunch of school kids. He was an auror first and foremost, and he had made a vow to protect. But Harry had learnt a long time ago that bullying, no matter what form it took, had a habit of escalating to catastrophic levels.

Nathan, a prime example.

With deliberate slowness Harry lowered his arm and started walking again. He was painfully aware that the passages were now deserted, having fallen so far behind the initial rush of students moving to their new classes. He was, for all intents and purposes, alone.

Whoever it was that was following him, if they thought being by himself would somehow make him an easier target, they would be in for a nasty surprise.

His steps echoed horribly, bouncing off the stones and alerting anyone nearby to his approach. He made no effort to disguise them. 

He turned another corner, entering a new hallway – one narrower than some of the others in the castle – when a lone figure emerged in front of him; nowhere near the biggest opponent he had faced, but still appearing somewhat intimidating.

Harry stopped once again, cocking his head and scanning the boy ahead of him critically. He was more than a little disappointed to see the Gryffindor tie.

He knew that his old House was hardly the shining example of integrity he had first believed it to be, and that Gryffindor had problems aplenty. He should have anticipated that he would be confronted with members from the other Houses. But some part of him was still saddened to see Gryffindor stooping so low.

It also pissed him off.

Harry pursed his lips, eyes sharp as he waited to see if the other was going to do anything. 

There was a tense pause when neither moved. Then, just behind him, Harry heard the approach of others. 

He tossed a quick glance over his shoulder, spotting two more Gryffindors coming around the corner. They must have been the ones following him.

Harry adjusted the strap of his bag and slowly let himself be herded further down the hallway. The first boy put a hand up as they drew closer. His smile was too wide and his eyes too hard for Harry’s tastes.

“Ciro! Been wanting to talk to you since you got back.”

Harry stared back blandly, preparing himself for whatever was about to happen. There were so many ways they could go about this – and while Harry was more than capable of handling physical or verbal confrontations, he did not want this to drag on more than it had to.

“Is this going to take long?” He asked abruptly, cutting through whatever stupid façade they were trying to lull him with. He never understood why some people liked pretending so much, he much preferred when his enemies just outright acted hostile. It was so much easier that way. “I have a class to get to.” He gestured at the hallway behind the boy.

The other two slinked their way around to their friend’s sides, forming a makeshift wall that blocked his path. Harry let his eyes jump between them.

They had to be fifth or sixth years. It would only be a year or two, but the differences in their height compared to Harry was too prominent for them to be the same year. 

“Well?” He prompted when they took too long to respond.

Frowns rippled over their faces, twisting their features unpleasantly. There was also a spark of uncertainty in their eyes, and Harry suspected that they were thrown by his attitude. Just seeing that was enough to make him glad that he had not bothered pretending to be Nathan more than necessary.

Just thinking about how long Nathan had to suffer under this torment made him gnash his teeth. He had had no one to look out for him. No one who had been willing to step up and defend him. He had dealt with everything they threw at him until he felt he had to end it to get away.

It was about time someone shouldered some of the burden – even if Nathan might not ever get the chance to see it happen. 

He stepped to the side and started walking, a determined weight to his steps.

“Hey!” An arm swung out and halted him, pushing against his chest until he was forced backwards again. “We didn’t say you could go.” The second boy spat, his face flushed.

“You’re wasting my time. If you have something to say, get it over with.” Harry snapped back. 

“Oh ho.” The third boy laughed, rocking back on his heels with a grin that promised nothing good. “Look at you, Ciro. Finally got some bark, huh? Pity it took so long for it to develop – might have helped with your _accident.”_

Harry could feel his anger rising. _Don’t do it kid,_ he thought viciously, _don’t you dare turn that into a joke._

“Yeah.” The first said gleefully, picking up where his friend left off. They must have seen something in his eyes and known they had hit a nerve. “But then again, you probably didn’t put up much of a fight in the first place.”

Harry clenched his fists, hiding the crackles of magic he _knew_ were running along his fingertips. This was the first time anyone had been brazen – hell, _repulsive_ enough to bring it up with him in such starkness. There had been whispers of insults nipping at his heels since he had come back, but no one had been stupid enough to say it to his face until now.

_Do they even understand what happened? Do they have any idea what it can do to a person? Do they know what it feels like to be violated in such a way?_

Harry’s upper lip curled in a faint snarl. Because of course they did not. They were nothing more than children that had never experienced a hardship in their life.

They did not know how demoralising, how destroying, how _painful_ it was to be forced down – _pinned_ – and have your body and mind desecrated in one fell swoop. 

Harry did though – he might never have experienced it, not fully – but he had seen the aftermath of what happened to Nathan. He had seen plenty during his run as an auror. Had taken statements of men and women, had seen the hollowed out look in their eyes, or the disgust they felt at _themselves,_ or the sheer anger at what they had gone through.

It was not something you just got over. And it certainly was not something to _laugh about._

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.” He said lowly, guttural. He could feel his magic bubbling at the back of his throat, demanding to be let loose. “So I suggest you get out of my way before you cross another line.”

“Yeah?” One of them – Harry did not even care to tell them apart anymore – sneered, leaning too close. “What are you going to do about it, Ciro? Huh?”

Harry was too focussed on the one invading his space, his vision tunnelled dangerously on that face, that he missed the quick movement of one of the others. 

A flash of vibrant pink hit him squarely in the nose, and Harry was blown to the ground. He grunted as the air was knocked out of him, his bag going skittering along the ground somewhere behind him.

The scent of iron was thick, and Harry brought his tongue out to lick at the trail of blood dripping down over his lips to pool at his chin.

The three Gryffindors stood over him, looming threateningly with arrogant glints in their eyes. Harry absently rubbed at his face, either smearing the blood or wiping it off.

_They don’t deserve to wear that crest._

“Not so hot now, are you?”

Harry took a breath, relishing in the sting that erupted as the air rushed through his nose. He could feel as his temper froze over, becoming a blizzard instead of a raging fire. His voice was steady, not a hint of his emotions dripping through when he replied. “Want me to show you what happened to the last person who touched me after I said no?”

One of them laughed obnoxiously, and Harry’s mouth curved into a sharp grin at the conceited sound. “I wasn’t aware you even _could_ say ‘no’.” He said ruthlessly. Harry calculated the distance between their legs. “I heard you usually _beg –”_

His leg shot out, flying swiftly, kicking that boy’s feet out from under him and bringing him to his arse. Harry used the momentum to roll himself onto his feet and stare the three of them down. He took a second to fix his rumpled uniform before addressing them.

“Still want to do this, boys? I’ll give you one last chance to back out.” Harry really hoped they did not back out. He raised his hands in preparation.

And like the stupid boys they were, they tried to rush at him. Harry smirked, flinging his hands out and letting a small trickle of his magic retaliate. 

The sound of them hitting the wall was like music to his ears. 

Harry straightened carefully, gaze switching between them rapidly. He liked the look in their eyes – the realisation that they were in over their heads. 

“Scram.” He ordered, satisfied as they did just that. He watched after them for a moment to make sure they were successfully cowed before turning to pick up his belongings.

He was just getting to his feet again when he looked up. He shifted uneasily at the sight of the two boys at the end of the hallway.

That just figured, really. It had to be Riddle that saw him scare off three older boys.

Harry slipped his bag on properly, narrowing his eyes at the unsettling expression on Riddle's face. He absolutely did not want to know what the Slytherin was thinking.

He looked to the other – Gus, that had to be a nickname, Harry really needed to learn all of their names soon if he was going to be around them for who knew how long – and found nothing but partially concealed shock. Which was marginally better than whatever was going on in Riddle’s head.

 _Do I say something, or just leave?_ Harry’s feet were already twitching, his body starting to turn, when Gus spoke.

“What in Merlin’s name was that?” 

Harry paused at the question, debating whether to answer or not. On one hand, it really was none of their business what occurred between him and the Gryffindors. On the other hand, Harry knew that they would only continue to hound him until they got an answer. Best to give them one now, before they had time to really think over what they saw and come up with more questions.

“They picked a fight. I defended myself.”

Gus’ expression crinkled in disbelief and no small amount of frustration. “You used nonverbal magic – you used _wandless_ magic.”

Oh. Harry bit his lip. That made more sense for the boy to focus on. But was there anything he could say in response to that? He _had_ used wandless and nonverbal magic against the Gryffindors. He had been using it more than he had his wand since he had returned to Hogwarts, now that he thought about it.

Harry was by no means a master at both, but his larger than average core meant that sometimes it was just easier to forego his wand.

Gus brought up a good point though. Nathan Ciro would not possess the level of magic or skill needed to preform consistent feats of either nonverbal or wandless.

Which meant Harry would have to stop using his magic so carelessly, especially while at school. Yet another restriction he had to place on himself.

Harry shook his head and came back to the conversation. He spread his hands innocently. “I was scared,” he started, trying to inject the right amount of wavering into his voice, “my magic responded. It happens all the time when we’re younger. I guess I just reacted.”

He watched as the boy digested that, and Harry knew it was a simple lie to swallow. It was far more believable that a fourteen year old had lost control and instinctively protected themselves, rather than purposefully controlled their magic to such a degree.

Gus should believe him, if only for his own peace of mind.

“Funny, you didn’t look particularly frightened.” 

Harry barely refrained from glaring at Riddle. “I was.” He told him, though he cursed the moment he responded because there had been far too much force in his tone.

There was no way Gus would fall for it now. Not with Riddle raising Harry’s hackles as he did.

Riddle drifted closer to him, steps measured and light. Harry clenched his jaw and did not react to the predatory gleam in the boy’s eyes. It seemed no matter what age, Riddle would always be some manner of disturbing. 

“Truly?” Riddle asked, coming to a stop only a few feet away. “Now why don’t I believe you? That’s the third time you’ve done nonverbal and wandless magic, from what I’ve seen. First, tripping Carrow at dinner. Then, cleaning the ink spill. And now this. Too many to be anything but intentional I think.”

“Do I look like I care what you _think,_ Riddle?”

He needed to calm down. It was bad enough that Riddle was already paying such close attention to him, but actively antagonising him would do nothing but put himself more firmly on his radar. What small satisfaction he might get from running circles around the fledgling Dark Lord was hardly worth the trouble it would inevitably give him.

Riddle, however, looked delighted at his challenge. The taller boy leaned closer, head tilted like a bird. “No. No, you don’t. Which is just _fascinating,_ since before you would hang on my every word, whenever I decided to bother with you.”

Well, at least he had dropped all pretences of being a caring housemate. This suited him more, in Harry’s opinion. Cold and intelligent with danger leaking through the cracks. 

“Maybe I got a wake up call.” Harry replied, and it felt like he was cutting himself on the sharpness of his voice. “Maybe I’ve always been like this and I just decided to finally stand up for myself.”

“No one is that good of an actor.” 

“You are.” It was out of his mouth before he could check himself. Harry winced at his recklessness.

A laugh escaped from Riddle, tinged with enough surprise that Harry knew it was entirely genuine. The Slytherin bit his lower lip lightly in consideration. His amusement faded into a pensive little expression, his eyes raking over Harry’s face curiously. 

“It’s like you’re a completely different person.” He murmured to himself.

Harry forced himself not to react. That was – 

He knew Riddle was terrifyingly intelligent. He had been on the receiving end of that brutal mind more than once – had been _inside_ that mind enough to know its twists and turns. But to have Riddle so blatantly guess the truth of Harry’s situation was disorientating. 

He carefully expelled the air in his lungs, loosening his tense posture and rolling his eyes. “Don’t be stupid, Riddle. You’re just annoyed you never saw through the guise. Now, if you’re done with your little interrogation, we should probably head to Defence before we get a detention.”

# OoO

Galatea looked up from her scroll when the door to her classroom opened with a creak. She blinked, brow furrowing as her three missing Slytherins quickly made their way to her desk.

“Mr. Riddle,” she began, eyes briefly darting over the other two, lingering on Ciro, before cycling back to her top student, “is there a reason you are more than ten minutes late?”

Tom smiled at her apologetically. “Yes, Professor Merrythought. I was held back by Professor Dumbledore to discuss some academic matters and it took a bit longer than intended. On the way here, Augustus and I encountered Nathan. He was a bit lost so we had to show him the route. I’m sorry for the delay.”

Galatea relaxed, turning her attention to Ciro. The boy was staring at Tom’s back, the beginnings of a scowl on his young face. Now she understood. It was rare that Tom was late to her classes, but if he was helping his housemate then she was willing to let it go.

“Of course Tom, thank you for being so considerate.” The boy’s smile widened, and Ciro’s expression darkened. Galatea felt a prick of sympathy for him. It must be hard to have to accept help for even something as simply as travelling between classes.

“Mr. Ciro,” she said, lowering her voice so that none of her overly curious students could hear. “I’m happy to see you back at Hogwarts. I understand that your situation is delicate at the moment, and until you have recovered your memories, I think it’s best to place you with Tom. He is the top of the class and should be able to provide you any assistance, plus being in the same House will give you amply opportunity to catch up. If that is alright with you, Tom?”

“Perfectly, professor.” Tom agreed, his attention fixed on his classmate. “I’m happy to lend a hand.”

Ciro muttered something under his breath, but he uncrossed his arms and looked up at her with blank eyes. It was disconcerting to have a student, one that she had known for years and watched grow, stare at her like she was a stranger. “Thank you, Professor Merrythought. I’ll do my best to get up to date. I wouldn’t want to give Riddle more work.” 

Ciro aimed a smile at his housemate, brittle and completely insincere. Galatea frowned at the deliberate disrespect. She knew Ciro and Riddle had not been friendly before the boy’s accident – and a part of her ached for what had happened to her student, because she should have taught him more defensive spells, she should have been a better teacher to him, maybe then he would have had a chance – but he seemed entirely ungrateful of Tom’s help.

Was it pride? Was Ciro merely feeling like relying on his classmates was a sign of weakness? That was not like him. He had always been a painfully polite young man, and lacked an arrogant bone in his body.

Her eyes darted between them, but whatever silent conversation that was happening in front of her was beyond her understanding. Slytherins had always been like this, she knew. But no matter how often she witnessed the dynamics at work, she was always felt uneasy at the constant plays.

“Take your seats boys, I will mark you present on the roll. Make sure to answer the questions on the board, then we will be moving onto a class discussion.”

The three of them moved after a beat, and Galatea watched with bemusement as Tom all but steered Ciro to their joint desk. 

He was such a bright student, but so odd at times.

For a long time the only noise was the scratching of quills, and Galatea contented herself to alternating between marking her older students’ assignments, and keeping an eye on her class.

She paid particular attention to Ciro, just to make sure the boy was not struggling. Other than the abnormally large pauses between his answering of questions, he seemed to be fine. In fact, Galatea found that he was one of the first students finished even after missing the first ten minutes.

 _How intriguing,_ she thought quietly. Ciro had always been a studious one, but there was nothing stellar about his abilities. He was an average student, with average marks, neither standing out nor fading into the background.

She watched him covertly, but as more and more students completed the questions she was forced to continue with the lesson. She stood and called for their attention.

“Now, who knows the most common form of hex-deflection?” 

Hands rose. “Miss Langton?”

“That would be _protego,_ Professor Merrythought.” 

Galatea nodded, “Good. _Protego_ is one of the simplest, yet most effective methods of protecting yourself from curses and hexes. However, it typically only blocks moderate-ranked attacks. There are a number of variations of this spell. How many are there?”

She cast her gaze around. “Mr. Riddle?”

The Slytherin lowered his hand, “Other than _protego,_ there are four variation. _Protego duo, protego horribilis, protego maxima_ and _protego totalum.”_

“Excellent, five points to Slytherin.” She turned to her blackboard, and with a wave of her wand, the chalk piece began to write. “Is there anything else the _protego_ can accomplish?”

She glanced over her shoulder, blinking in surprise at the first hand she saw. Galatea slowly rotated, debating whether to call on him or not. In many ways, if he were wrong it might cause him undue embarrassment. But not calling on him when he was one of the few with his hand up could be equally damaging.

“Mr. Ciro?”

He was leaning back in his chair, looking completely confident in his answer. “If the caster is paying proper attention they can block physical blows. If they’re particularly talented, they can even redirect hexes cast at them back at their opponent. That takes a level of focus not a lot of people are capable of though.”

She blinked in surprise. “That’s…correct. Well done, Mr. Ciro.” That was a more obscure fact about this defensive charm, and not many users were ever skilled enough to reach that level.

A flicker of a smile crossed his face at her praise.

# OoO

Augustus pressed his lips together tightly as Professor Merrythought carried on with her lecture. His eyes drilled into Ciro’s back, silently baffled that the other had known the answer.

_He is supposed to have no memories, and yet he was able to answer a question in one of the most difficult subjects on his first day back._

Augustus looked down at his parchment, his eyes roaming unseeingly over the jotted words. His mind continued to loop back over the incident in the hallway, and Riddle’s intense reaction to it.

It reminded him sharply of Orion’s own budding fascination with Ciro. He had known for years by this point that Riddle and Orion were cut from the same cloth in many ways, and shared the habit of fixating on certain things to a dangerous level.

He had never expected either of them to grow interested in Ciro.

Although, now that he had had a chance to watch the other boy, he could at least understand their reasonings. 

Ciro was different from before.

His gaze lifted, inevitably drawn to the back of Ciro’s head once again. He was only a desk behind them, giving him ample opportunity to observe the amnesic boy.

Augustus watched as Ciro all but lounged in his seat, one arm thrown casually over the back of it and a comfortable slouch to his posture. He was following the professor dutifully, but there was a distant gleam in his eyes that told Augustus that Ciro was not fully present.

It was disquieting how much he had changed. 

Before, Ciro was – small. He never had the courage to project even the faintest traces of confidence, keeping his arms tucked in close and his head lowered.

 _Why is he so different?_ Augustus thought furiously. _Losing his memories should have made him more pathetic, not less._

As he watched, Riddle’s head tilted towards Ciro, the movement of his lips was barely discernible. And even this close Augustus had trouble hearing what was said. But he did spot the tension that rippled through Ciro’s shoulders.

Ciro’s head snapped around, and Augustus stared as the other leaned into Riddle’s space with a snarl on his face.

Ciro’s reply was little more than a harsh whisper, but regardless of how fierce it was, Riddle merely smiled.

Augustus carefully looked away once more. 

He had learned years ago that when Riddle smiled, nothing good followed.

It made him nervous as well. Orion had already laid claim to Ciro, and had been explicitly clear about his intentions. If Riddle was thinking to do the same…

Neither of them were the sharing type.

There was still another year or two before the official hierarchy had to be established within their group. But if Orion and Riddle clashed now it could have potential ramifications well into their last year. Orion might not care too much for House politics, but giving up his position without a fight would be a sign of weakness – which was not something he would tolerate.

Augustus hoped it did not come to that. Pre-emptively going after each other – and all because of _Ciro_ – was not worth it. They had to know that.

Though Riddle and Orion were both more than a little mad at times.

“Alright,” Merrythought called, clapping her hands sharply to draw their attention, “we will be partnering and taking turns helping each other to cast a proper _protego._ I want you all to remember what you have learned in your Charms classes, as well as what we have discussed here. Professor Morgan and I both expect you all to be able to conjure a steady shield by the end of the week.”

Augustus grimaced as he stood with his partner, a Ravenclaw girl that trembled when their eyes met. As if he would be careless enough to hurt her in plain view of their professor. He refrained from rolling his eyes as he pulled his wand free. 

“Help each other’s wand movements. If your partner is struggling, try and help them fix their stances. Your peers should be the ones you ask before coming to a teacher. Attempt to solve it amongst yourselves first.”

Augustus sneered when his partner stepped closer to him, hands held out uncertainly. _“Protego.”_ He said, and with a wave of his wand, a faint shimmer appeared before him. 

Her eyes widened appropriately, a flush of embarrassment overtaking her cheeks. “Um, I’m still having trouble with conjuring one. I can only hold it for a few seconds before it vanishes.”

She cast it, and Augustus watched dispassionately as the shield failed mere moments into its life. What a shameful display of magic. 

“You need to push more magic into the spell.” He informed her, words absent of any kindness. She flinched at his tone. 

“I try, but I can never concentrate it enough. It’s hard.”

The derisive curl to his mouth became more pronounced. “It’s one of the easiest forms of defensive magic,” he said pointedly, “if you cannot even cast this then what good are you?”

“Hey now, no need to be rude.”

Augustus’ eyes cut to his left to see Ciro scowling up at him. The shorter boy reached out and pushed at Augustus’ chest, moving him to the side with a soft force. So stunned at the boldness of the action, Augustus let it happen.

Ciro was not the type to initiate contact. He had been bitten more than enough to reinforce an aversion to touch.

Ciro turned his attention to the Ravenclaw girl, face thoughtful as he stared at her. “Lots of people have difficulty with this charm in the beginning. It’s perfectly normal.” He soothed, moving closer. “What you’re missing is confidence. You’re more than capable of conjuring a shield, you’ve just got to have the right push.” 

The girl stared at Ciro perplexed, like she did not know why he was even talking to her. Ciro did not seem to notice the rapidly forming annoyance in her eyes.

“Do it again.” He commanded with the ease of a teacher. 

“Excuse me?” She arched an eyebrow at the boy.

Ciro – shockingly – rolled his eyes and sighed. “Do it again, please?” The added request did nothing to hide the demand still coating his words.

The girl’s shoulders locked. “I’m sorry, did I ask you, Ciro? What would you even know about this – you’ve been out of school for months. I bet you can’t do one either, and you think you have the right to lecture me?”

Augustus was tempted to agree, but he caught sight of Riddle hovering just behind Ciro with a captivated twist to his expression. Then he remembered the hallway, and the dinner in the Great Hall, and the incident with Carrow – and he was forced to admit that maybe Ciro was more capable than they gave him credit for.

Again, Ciro was unfazed by the irritated attitude. Instead he half-turned to face Riddle. “Hex me.”

To Augustus’ surprise – they were in a _classroom_ for Merlin’s sake – Riddle did not even hesitate. 

The hex shot at Ciro with concerning speed, only to clash with a perfect _protego_ a few inches before Ciro’s unimpressed face. The bright flash of colour drew the immediate attention of everyone in the room, including Merrythought.

“That’s the best you can do? A stinging hex?” Ciro tutted, and the curve of his grin was daring. His wand was held loosely in his hand. “Come on Riddle, put a little effort in. I’m trying to prove a poi –”

The next hex was even faster – Augustus had not even seen Riddle’s wand move – but it too connected with the shield charm, dissolving harmlessly.

“Better.” Ciro proclaimed, turning to the girl and leaving his back completely open. “See? Now your problem is you don’t believe your shield will actually stop anything. It’s a mental block. You doubt yourself so of course it doesn’t work. You need to have more faith in yourself; you’re stronger than you think.”

“Mr. Ciro! Tom! What on earth is going on!” Merrythought descended on them like one of the furies. “I did not give you permission to cast any hexes!”

“Just a little demonstration, Professor Merrythought.” Riddle said smoothly. Augustus glanced at him probingly, but there was not even a wisp of what Riddle thought about Ciro blocking his attacks so effortlessly. “Sylvia was having some trouble, and we thought it best to give her a practical showing of how the charm works.”

The way she wavered in the face of Tom’s explanation was ridiculously obvious. “Still. I do not want to catch another spell being thrown that I have not asked for. Understood?”

“Of course, professor. We’re terribly sorry.”

Ciro nodded along. “Won’t happen again.”

She studied them both before departing to help another pair. 

“How do you know how to cast a shield charm?” The girl asked irascibly. “How can _you_ block _Tom’s_ hexes?”

Ciro flapped his hand uncaringly. “Riddle’s not as good as you think. Are you going to give it another shot? Focus on your shield, about making it as thick as a wall. Think how nothing can get you from behind it.”

Sylvia hesitated, clearly unwilling to trust Ciro to such a degree. Her gaze landed on Riddle, who merely nodded in encouragement. 

She returned the nod, steeling herself as she raised her wand. _“Protego.”_ She said firmly, slashing her wand through the air.

In front of her, a shimmering barrier appeared. Sylvia’s eyes widened in delight. “I did it.” She breathed.

Ciro smiled at her, reaching out and plucking a quill off of the desk next to him. He tossed it underarm at her shield, and they all watched as it bounced off. “Strong enough to block physical attacks as well. Nicely done.”

Something brushed against his elbow. Augustus cocked his head enough to glance at Riddle from the corner of his eyes. “He blocked your attacks.”

The other boy hummed in agreement, attention entirely fixed on their Housemate. Augustus tapped his fingers against his arm in contemplation. “And now he is attempting to teach others? I do not understand him. How has he changed so much? It doesn’t make any sense.”

“No, it doesn’t, does it?” Riddle said quietly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm now on tumblr as well! So if anyone has any questions/just wants to scream at me drop by! https://childotkw.tumblr.com/
> 
> Now I need to go and cry because QLD is currently losing State of Origin T-T


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